God Only Knows
by Shimmersea
Summary: AU, Captain Swan. Emma goes through the portal alone, and is stranded in a world she doesn't understand. She quickly encounters a rather dashing pirate, but despite making a deal with him to get home will she be able to trust him enough to work together? Or should she even trust him in the first place?
1. Chapter 1

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Her entire body ached. That was the first thing that registered in her muddled brain. She felt a little bit like she'd been thrown down a rocky hill, and had battered her way down unimpeded. Opening her eyes was a struggle in and of itself. It made her eyes burn in protest, not so much from the light as much as the painful process of being open. It took a couple tries before she could even convince them to stay open. Once she had gotten that down, she closed them again, waiting a beat, before trying again.

Okay... Why was she in the woods? She has woken up in some pretty strange places before, but this was near the top of the list. She had been drunk for most of the previous entries. Despite her stinging eyes and screaming head, she was pretty positive she hadn't been drinking. She slowly dragged herself to her feet, an accomplishment in and of itself, mind reeling as she tried to piece together what had happened before she woke up sore and confused in the woods.

Regina. They had been protecting Regina from a Wraith that was trying to steal her soul. Sounded crazy, but not that much crazier than saving a town of cursed fairy tale characters with true love's kiss, or being the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming. As much as the skeptic in her was revolting, it was hard not to accept these things when they unfolded in front of her eyes in irrefutable clarity. They had scared the wraith off for a night, but after that they had made a plan to suck it into a new world with Jefferson's hat to get rid of it for good.

And that had worked. She could remember that much. It was slowly coming back to her. Regina almost being sucked in; her making the stupid decision to push the Evil Queen to safety, and getting herself pulled into the portal in the process. She could remember Mary Margaret screaming after her, and after that it all went blank.

"Mary Margaret?" She tried, leaning against a tree and scanning the clearing she had found herself in. Her fingers ran across her forehead, as that was where the pain was the worst; she came back with blood on her fingers. She must have hit some branches on the way down, but the ache was probably from a concussion from the landing, not the wound.

After all, she could see a sizable dent in the ground from where she landed (no wonder she was so sore), but there was just the one. She had no way of knowing if Mary had fallen through with her or if she was still in Storybrooke, but it was clear that she wasn't here at the moment. Emma sighed, closing her eyes and weighing her options.

As nice as it would be for her to have woken up in the same world she'd left, it was doubtful. The whole point had been to send the wraith away. If getting him to the woods would have been deterrent enough to stop the wraith, they wouldn't have used the hat in the first place. She was somewhere else, though where exactly she didn't know. For a moment, she was understandably worried that she'd been tossed into the exact same world as the wraith. Emma didn't know much about it, except that it sucked souls and marked its next intended victim. She didn't have a mark, so she wasn't on its hit list just yet. She did wonder, faintly, where it might be. But it wasn't in her current proximity and she would like it to stay that way. Emma could recall someone telling her the creature rested during the day, so hopefully she could put distance between it and herself before it recuperated.

She considered, for a moment, shimmying up a tree to see if that would help, but her aching body rejected that idea pretty quickly. Emma had always been better at climbing fences than trees, anyway. Besides, unless there was a notable landmark like Pride Rock or something, seeing the landscape wouldn't help her place what world she was in to begin with. At least she could rule out Wonderland and Neverland. The woods she was currently in didn't seem quite fantastical enough to suit either of those locations; at least, not in the way she knew them. Disney apparently didn't know the half of it.

First things first, she had to find a way out of the forest. Then, she would try to find people. Hopefully this world had magic, or getting home would be infinitely harder. Finding a portal back home sounded impossible enough, if she was stuck in a place where she was the most knowledgeable inhabitant when it came to portals and magic, it would be even harder. Her understanding of portals was limited at best. She had no clue how she was going to find one. Her only hope was that she could find someone who did.

Or, maybe, that Gold and Regina could be coerced into helping find her. If the hat had opened the portal to here, maybe it could do it again, and then she at least wouldn't be facing this strange new place alone.

Though, she was pretty accustomed to doing things alone. She'd had a family for less than a week - it wasn't like she'd already forgotten what it was like. To be her against the world. Really, Emma wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forget.

The fact was, leaning against this tree and feeling sorry for herself wasn't helping. She needed to get out of this forest. She would decide on her next move after that.

Setting herself moving wasn't as easy as she would have liked, but Emma dragged her feet until her body followed the direction she set herself into. Her body still hurt but luckily, it seemed to lessen a little with movement. The sun was slightly behind her, and sinking slowly. She guessed it was a little after midday, and hopefully she could make good progress before she ran out of daylight.

As she walked, she cataloged what had fallen through the portal with her. Her sorest side had her gun still attached to her hip. A ghastly gun shaped bruise adorned her side, so she had to guess that she had landed on her side. She wished she could show Henry. No doubt the kid would be impressed. Despite their rough landing, the gun didn't seem any worse for the wear. The safety was on and the chamber was full at eight rounds. However, she wasn't carrying any extra ammunition. There was little need in a sleepy town like Storybrooke. Well, it had been pretty quiet before the curse was broken, anyway.

Other than that, pickings were slim. She had a set of keys, all to things that were literally a world away. She had a small flashlight on her keychain, but it wasn't even close to being strong enough to be useful. It was a flashlight intended for finding the correct key in dim lighting, not for illuminating a path in the complete darkness. She had what remained of her cell phone, but it was not as sturdy as her gun, and the thing was toast. Cracked screen, couldn't even turn the damn thing on. She wasn't sure what that would be good for, but she didn't have the heart to abandon it. Her wallet, full of a collection of cards, cash, and other likely useless items, was in her jeans pocket. She had a set of handcuffs in her jacket, and...

Oh, thank Jesus, some painkillers. Unsurprisingly, the stress of her job wore on Emma, and resulted in a lot of headaches. Especially lately. So it was hard to find her without a stash of pain relievers squirreled away on her person. She paused long enough to pop a couple of tablets, though that wasn't the easiest task without water. Despite the bitter taste lingering in her mouth, she had to count her blessings. The bottle was at least half full, so it should last her awhile. She had to make a promise to herself not to waste it on little headaches as she did at home. She didn't have that luxury now.

The last item she had was a small bottle of hand sanitizer. That was only slightly less useless than the destroyed cell phone. Oh well... Maybe this world would prove to be unsanitary.

She walked for at least two hours before finding anything of interest. The painkillers kicked in, leaving her body at a dull ache rather than an ambient throb. The boots she was wearing, while quite cute, weren't exactly built for hiking. Her feet were incredibly sore and her adventure had barely started.

The first landmark she found was the best she could have asked for, barring a cabin with running water and power, along with a copy of _Portals for Dummies._ Emma stumbled across a stream, which she eagerly drank from. Not exactly Aquafina, but she had experienced worse tasting tap water. The water was cool and calm, and not very deep. Emma rested there for a bit, soaking her already screaming feet. This was good. She could follow the river until she found a way out. Maybe further. Animals and food sources were often close to bodies of water. And towns often materialized around them. This was another lucky break.

As much as she wanted to, Emma knew she couldn't rest forever. She wouldn't have daylight much longer, and getting as far as possible before she tried to hole up for the night was a must. She continued on, keeping an eye out for something to eat. She wasn't disappointed, either, soon finding berry bushes containing recognizable blackberries and raspberries, more than she could possibly hope to eat by herself. She ate as much as she could stomach, and then stowed more away in her jacket pockets. Not a perfect solution, but the best she could offer at the moment.

She liked to think she covered a lot of ground. It certainly seemed like she did, anyway. Emma walked for at least eight hours, and by the time she stopped the sun was noticeably starting to sink behind her, and the sky darkening. The blonde was aching from head to toe, but she resisted taking more painkillers. When she finally stopped moving, she would be out like a light - so there was no need for any.

Emma didn't have a lot of options in the way of shelter. The best she could do was tuck herself under a tree with really low-hanging branches. If she lay on her back, the pine needles wouldn't prick her skin too badly. She didn't have a blanket (or a pillow, god how great would a pillow be right about now), but she had her jacket, and the weather wasn't too cold. Certainly not the start of winter she'd left behind in Maine.

For once, she wished she hadn't given up smoking. She had smoked when she met Neal; At least, when she could afford to buy them. Even back then, cigarettes were behind the counter, so they were hard to pinch. She had to give them up in prison, though, getting her hands on them in the big house required more than her pride was willing to sacrifice. Besides... she'd been pregnant. She'd owed it to the baby to make sure he made it out as healthy as possible. But she distinctly remembered the beautiful Zippo lighter she'd once had. Oh, how wonderful that would be, if it was nestled in her jeans pocket where she had kept it back in the day.

Emma knew that flint could cause sparks, enough to start a fire. However, she honestly had no clue what flint looked like, and doubted any was conveniently lying around. According to boy scout lore, one could start a fire with friction and some wood, but she was too sore to give that a shot. She could make it one night, she told herself. By the end of tomorrow, she'd find better shelter than the forest floor.

She had no way of knowing that she could achieve that goal, but that didn't stop her from making it.

Emma didn't even bother eating some of her berries. She crawled under her tree and laid down on her back, and fell asleep pretty quickly, gun in hand. Just in case. The safety was still on, but it gave her a small feeling of security to have it in her hand.

She woke up with the birds, which was far earlier than she would usually wake up. Emma felt like the Tin Man, creaking out from under her tree. She popped a couple more pills, knowing she'd need the assist to be able to move today.

"Coffee would be great about now," She told the empty forest. A pack of bluebirds had collected in her tree, and they chirped at her in answer. "You're not helpful," She informed the birds, who didn't seem too flummoxed by that revelation. Despite their lack of productiveness, Emma stupidly tossed some of her berries in their direction. They were the only life she'd seen so far, and they weren't openly hostile. They were comforting, and if handing out some berries kept them around, she'd spare the berries.

God, she really was Snow White's daughter. Making friends with the birds.

Emma had a breakfast from what remained. It wasn't entirely filling, but it was her only option. The stream had widened and deepened by the time she'd stopped, and beyond the birds, there was nobody to see her. So she stripped completely, and washed off in the water. It was cold but relaxing, and feeling clean always did wonders for her mood. It was easier to catalog her bruises this way, too, but she didn't spot any more than she had suspected yesterday. The gun-shaped one was turning a charming shade of violet. Wonderful. Washing her head wound made it bleed a little again, but at least it was a small cut. Not anything to worry about.

She stayed in the water longer than she probably should have. After that, she crawled under her tree again and dozed while she dried off. It was markedly warmer by the time she shrugged back into her clothing, warm enough that she left her jacket off, tying it about her waist instead of wearing it.

Once again, she set her feet into motion. It was hard to keep moving when she had no clue if she was making progress. Not for the first time, she considered clambering up a tree to try and scout, but the idea of climbing a tree was still quite daunting. No, if she didn't see any improvement by midday, she told herself, then she'd see how skilled she was at climbing.

The birds that had taken to following her, chirped at her pleasantly, flying about easily. "Show offs," She accused, but the birds didn't seem particularly put out by her sour attitude.

She did note with pride that she seemed to be getting closer to the end of this forest. It felt like the trees were getting less dense as she walked. Emma was pretty sure that meant that she was getting near the edge.

She didn't have much in the way of proof. After all, she didn't know much about forests. Maybe they had less dense patches scattered throughout. Hell, she could have been imagining it at first. The further she went, though, the more obvious it was. The trees got smaller and farther apart the longer she walked. The stream had widened, too; at least twelve feet across now, and much deeper. She hadn't tested it but she would guess it had a current now, too, thanks to the visible movement in the water.

She knew full well she hadn't covered as much ground as she had yesterday. It wasn't so much that the terrain was more difficult - it was just she was so _sore_. Her feet were screaming, as these boots she was wearing were not made for walking. At least not long distances. Compiled with falling from the sky and running on only berries for fuel, her body just wasn't as up for the trek as it had been yesterday. All and all, she estimated she had gotten a little more than half as far as she had trekked the day before, even though she had started out earlier. It was pretty hard to tell, though, a rough estimate was the best she could do. If only forests had mile markers like highways.

It was a mid afternoon when she finally saw the edge of the forest. She couldn't help it; she was so excited to feel sun on her face and maybe see where she was, she even fell into a jog. Her body forgot its pains, probably because a helpful jolt of adrenaline had run through her at the prospect of finally making it out of the woods. She was so close; she could almost feel the sun on her skin and the breeze on her face... Maybe, for once, something would be as easy as it looked.

And then, of course, she felt a sudden weightlessness as she was suddenly hoisted into the air. She gave a startled cry, but nobody was around to hear it except her new feathered friends. The blood rushed to her head as she struggled to right herself. What in the world...?

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said to no one in particular, hands closing around the rope of the net she was currently suspended in. As if things had not been bleak enough beforehand, whatever power was running this universe had seen fit to trap her even _more_ literally.

It was a large net, and the rope was thick and heavy. Emma searched for at least an hour for a weak point or a hole, and was disappointed on both accounts. She was frustrated, to say the least. The birds that were following her were perched on a tree across from her, and kept tilting their heads, as if they were confused as to what she was doing. Hopefully they wouldn't send her mother a birdy message that she'd been swearing up a storm. Knowing how useless they were, they probably would tattle on her, but neglect to mention to Mary Margaret that she was stranded in a net, in a currently nameless world, with nobody to help her.

What the hell was she going to do now? She could try shooting herself out, but that sounded like a pretty harebrained idea. This rope was thick, three inches round, she'd have to be incredibly accurate and even still, she wasn't sure how well it would work.

Well, this trap had to have been set recently, she decided. The rope was in too good of shape for something that had been set up and abandoned. Someone had put it here on purpose... So maybe, they'd come back to check on it. Not exactly how she'd intended to come across other humans, but she'd wait until morning. If nobody came by then... Well, she'd have to try to shoot herself out.

Being stuck suspended in the net was not exactly fun. She had a couple of hours of daylight left, and she had not intended to spend them in one place (still in the forest, she might add). She didn't have any berries left, and there was not a lot to keep her occupied, excluding the birds. She found if she whistled to them, they would come closer, perching on the rope of her suspended cage. None were brave enough to try and make their way into the net with her, even if they were small enough to fly right out again.

She tried singing to them, too, what she could remember of _Someday my Prince Will Come_ (it seemed fitting) but they seemed to like the Beach Boys better. Emma wasn't exactly the best singer but she could follow a tune. One of her foster parents had been extremely religious, and even though she'd hardly been six at the time, she'd been expected to follow along with the hymns. It was a lesson she learned quickly, after the first few Sundays, when the ruler had been brought out because she didn't sing along.

And that was one of her better foster care experiences.

As the sky gradually began to darken, she tried to tell herself that she should stay awake. If someone did come, then she would want to be alert. Obviously, she'd probably wake up if someone cut her down, but the rude awakening would give them the upper hand, to say the least. But surprisingly enough, being suspended in the net was more comfortable than the forest floor had been. It was like snoozing in a hammock on vacation... Not, exactly, that she'd know what that was like. She'd been in a hammock before, certainly, but never on vacation.

It was weird to think about that. Almost thirty years old, and never on vacation.

She felt herself slowly losing her battle of trying to stay awake. The birds, as always, were the opposite of helpful, all puffed into feathery puffs as they went to bed themselves. Despite herself, Emma fell asleep.

Her dreams were scattered, and of home. It was comforting; to see the faces she missed so desperately. She saw Henry, reading his book. Mary Margaret was with him, and David too. They seemed happy and peaceful. All together, hot chocolate in hand, a family. She ached with wanting to join them, but it was like she was outside the window, looking in. She couldn't reach them, no matter how desperately she wanted to. She was left excluded. Alone.

At least watching them was a small comfort.

The dream ended with the warmth of a sunrise on her face. Probably reality pushing into her dream, as she could feel the sunshine, despite her refusal to wake up. Her feathery friends had begun their cheerful singing, but Emma refused to listen, letting herself sink back into sleep. This time, thankfully, it was a dreamless, quiet sleep. As much as she loved her family, it hurt a little to dream of them knowing she couldn't be with them.

Until, of course, she bolted awake. Startled, Emma gripped her net, wondering what in the world had woken her. She was a light sleeper, granted; any foreign noise, she was up, whether she liked it or not. She noticed that her entourage of birds had dissipated, and no matter how stupid it was, she felt a little betrayed. Was that what had woken her? The lack of birds chirping? No, that was strange. Why would that wake her up?

"Oy, lass, I asked you a question." The voice startled her, and the net spun with her jerky movements. It was enough to make her dizzy. That wasn't in her head, was it? She looked down (a good twelve feet, this trap really had her suspended), and saw a male with dark hair and blue eyes looking up at her. It was hard to see him perfectly, with the thick netting between them, but she could see that he was outfitted with scruff that would make August jealous and enough leather to make even her a little envious. And... Was that a hook for a hand?

"You're lucky looking is free, lass," He informed her, tilting his head. Well, okay, she deserved that one. She'd been doing more starring than talking. Emma didn't have enough sense to look ashamed. She was rarely ashamed. "Are you mute, love, or do you just not feel like talking?"

"I can talk," She answered, voice betraying the fact that she'd been asleep not too long ago. She desperately wanted to rub her eyes, but that would only make it more obvious. "I didn't hear the question."

"I asked if you had a reason for hanging about in a net, or if you'd been captured for one reason or another," The man informed her, peering up at her. She was tempted to roll her eyes. Yes, she'd _chosen_ to trap herself in a net, that made a lot of sense.

"I can't get out. I didn't notice the trap until it was too late-" The net spun as she shifted, and she waited until she could see the figure below her again before she continued, "To stop it. Are you going to get me out of here, or just keep asking stupid questions?"

At that, he gave her a sly grin. "That's no way to treat your only chance at getting down, now is it?"

What an ass. Disgust clear in her features, Emma let her pride get in the way of her better judgment. "Well, fuck you then. I'd rather stay up here." If he walked away, she knew that she wouldn't call after him. Was it dumb? Oh, certainly. But pride was a cruel mistress.

"My goodness, lass, that's not proper language for a lady," Her tormentor said with a jeering tone, circling her net, though his eyes were not on her. He was looking for where the rope was suspended, no doubt.

"I'm not a lady," Emma responded sharply, keeping a close eye on him. Despite his less than helpful attitude, he was a human being. Well, as far as she could tell. Having some kind of human contact was preferable than trying to stumble through this strange world alone. However, she wasn't sure how much she could trust him. Trust wasn't something that came easily to her in the first place, and his general temperament didn't really scream trustworthy. Not to mention, even if he got her down... He had no obligation to let a little mouthy blonde follow him around. Hopefully he could at least get her feet back on land. After that, she'd figure something out.

"That so?" He wondered, turning his attention back to her. "Well, ladies are never much fun, are they?"

Was... was he flirting with her? Emma let that sink in, slowly. Well, if he had enough interest to flirt, she could probably convince him to get her down.

"Ladies are boring, and they don't get much done," She told him. "Now, please, will you help me down?" Using please on a guy that grated her nerves wasn't easy, but maybe it would show more results.

He evaluated her slowly, long enough that she wasn't sure if he was going to answer. "Lady or otherwise, women stuck in nets don't get much done, either. You ought not be so judgmental." If looks could kill, this leather-clad asshole would have a nice unnamed tombstone to call his own. "What do I get if I help you down?"

Emma gave a sound of frustration, even though revealing how annoyed she was probably wasn't the best plan. "You're really going to demand payment for cutting me out of a damn net?" She asked, tone rising.

"I'm a pirate, love, we demand payment for everything," His response came easily. "I'm sure you have something I might like..."

Despite the fairly blatant sexual reference, Emma's attention was more caught by his claims towards being a pirate. "You're joking. A pirate?" Well, come to think of it, that made the leather a little less ridiculous. "Let me guess, Captain Hook?" He was outfitted with a rather gnarly looking one, after all.

He blanched, clearly surprised. He reared his hook in what might have been a menacing way if Emma wasn't currently suspended far out of his reach. "How do you know who I am?" He accused.

Oh, shit. Of all the luck, she had to run into Captain fucking Hook. He was a lot better looking than the dude dressed in red with a twiddly mustache, she had to admit. God, she was not going to think that way about Captain Hook. Emergency break on that thought process, stat.

"Hate to break it to you, but you do have a hook for a hand," She informed him evenly. A good save. Hook eyed his hook for a long moment, as if just remembering it was there, before he dropped his hand.

"Well," He said, clearly a little ruffled. There were some flaws in her logic - she had no way of knowing he was a Captain, for starters - but he was too befuddled to question it. "Yes, Captain Hook, at your service. If the price is right, that is."

"Where's your ship, Captain? I didn't realize one could sail a forest," She snarked, ignoring his pressing for pay. She had jack-shit, and she wasn't going to sleep with him, or agree to any other sexual favor. She'd rather shoot herself out, or hope for someone else to come by.

"She's docked in water, love, thanks for the inquiry," Hook's responded wryly, clearly not delayed by her misdirection. "Now, since you have my name, give me yours, and we'll consider it payment. Savvy?"

Emma wasn't sure how to respond to that. It wasn't asking for much, and she did want down... But a part of her felt nervous, handing out her name in a world she didn't understand. She'd been so sure this wasn't Neverland, but she had run into Captain Hook. Maybe Neverland wasn't as fantastic as she'd been taught.

He seemed to notice her hesitation. "This is a short term offer, lass, take it or I'll leave you hanging, so to speak."

Oh, god. He made puns too. Emma rolled her eyes, but despite the fact she didn't have much interest in making friends with the pirate, she did want to get down. Her name wasn't exactly going to break the bank. "It's Emma," She finally supplied. Hook watched her, as if appraising the answer. He must have found it satisfactory, because after a beat, he answered.

"Emma." He said the word as if he was savoring it, testing the sound of it aloud. It did strange things to her to hear her name coming out of his mouth. He probably got a lot of women that way. "A pleasure, Emma," He told her, tipping a nonexistent hat in her direction. The desire to roll her eyes returned.

"Yeah, sure," She responded dismissively. False bravado would get him nowhere. "Are you going to let me down or not? A deal's a deal."

"Aye, lass, aye. You're a demanding one, aren't you?" The pirate returned, the cheeky grin on his face making it clear that he meant it in more ways than one.

"Get me down already," Emma bit back. Hook waved his good hand at her, as if he couldn't be troubled to respond, before moving to a tree, and scampering up it surprisingly quickly for a guy with one hand.

"Brace yourself, love, you're in for a hell of a fall," His voice warned her from somewhere above her. How, exactly, was she going to do that? Before she could ask, however, a sudden sensation of weightlessness hit her, and she fell, net and all, the long drop to the forest floor. The second drop in as many days, and unfortunately, she'd not been particularly ready. Her head was already boasting a recent injury. The impact of falling again...

She was out like a light.


	2. Chapter 2

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Emma had never experienced the world spinning when her eyes were completely closed. It was a strange and very uncomfortable experience. She heard a moan, and it took a moment for her to realize it had come from her. She could vaguely feel something ghosting about her jacket, which was enough to get her to drag her eyes open. Yup, the world was still spinning, whether her eyes were open or not. She could see the figure in front of her, vaguely, unabashedly running their hands all over her.

She moved a hand and pushed it in their direction, and it connected with something but didn't prove to be much of a deterrent. She mumbled out some sort of direction to leave her be, but her company didn't pay much attention.

"S-stop," She said, moving her hand up from what she slowly decided was his neck to his jaw, using a grip at his chin to push it away from her. His head was forced away and his body followed, but only out of her arm's reach.

"Relax, lass." The voice told her, and Emma closed her eyes again, pressing a hand to her temple. Wow, that second fall had really not done her any favors. She felt ill, but was well aware that there was nothing to come up but stomach acid. She probably could have used a stop to a doctor, but she slowly remembered that wherever she was, it probably didn't have a medical professional capable of working with a concussed patient. Despite the voice's directive, she found it hard to 'relax'.

"Keep your hands off me," She mumbled, looking out through her lashes at the rifler. She wanted to reach for her gun, but she aimed wrong and her fingers brushed her ribs instead. Okay, yeah, that head injury had her really rattled.

"That was quite a landing, Emma. You need to stay still," Her company instructed. Hearing her name cleared her thoughts at least minimally. Right. She'd just been dropped from the sky by a one-handed pirate. Hook didn't look particularly guilty about it, either. Had he been trying to search her? How long had she been out? Had he been able to take anything yet?

"I'm fine," She responded, in a word that somehow come out too fast and too close together, coming out more like Ihmfin.

"Never better, I'm sure," the pirate said wryly. Emma slowly pushed herself up on her elbows, trying to sit up. It took her a moment to realize that Hook had helped her with a hand on her shoulder, pulling her forward. "Easy now. I told you to brace yourself, not plummet to the ground head first."

Indigence riled up, as she started to come back to herself. "Yeah, great timing. You might as well have warned me after I hit the ground, you ass." At this, Hook did seem to look a little guilty, which was perhaps something. It didn't ease the pain in her head, however. She was starting to regret sitting up. She was rather tired, actually. If only he'd go away, she could take a little nap...

Her eyes had fluttered closed, almost without her noticing. A sudden touch to her cheek startled them back open. Had he just slapped her? Well, it hadn't been hard enough to be a slap. But certainly, his hands didn't belong anywhere near her face.

"Stop that," She snapped, irritation edging into her tone. Well, more than it already had been. "Would you just go away already?"

"You don't know this about me, Emma, but I am a gentleman. I can't just leave a wounded lady alone in the forest. You might be eaten by an ogre, or worse." An ogre? Was he joking with that one? Well, he was Captain Hook, was it really spectacular that she could be eaten by an ogre?

"I told you I'm not a lady," Emma said sharply, wishing that she was not so vulnerable. "But if you're insisting on chivalry, get out of the way so I can get up." She would not ask for help, even if he would give it. Hook moved marginally out of the way, and Emma slowly shifted to her knees, and from there slowly made it to her feet. She felt a little steadier now that she was standing, maybe. Her legs only wobbled a bit. It took her a moment to notice the hand at her elbow. How did he keep doing that? She smacked it away, before pushing him away with both hands. He really struggled with maintaining acceptable distance. The effort was difficult while still maintaining her balance, but she managed. "There, duty done. Now, if you want to be helpful, direct me to an inn... or a town... or something. And then we can part ways, Captain."

His eyebrows rose. "An inn?" He repeated incredulously.

"Yes. A place where you rent a room and sleep in it," Emma deadpanned, her snark dead on despite her painful head injury.

At this, she noted that Hook was eying her quite suspiciously. Even through the fog of her head injury, she could tell she'd said something wrong. She didn't have a chance to worry about what it was, though, as her footing wavered. Before she could face plant, however, Hook caught her quite seamlessly, looping her arm around his shoulders.

"Hey-" She barked, moving to push him away with her free hand, but a grip tightened around her side.

"Lass, you can barely stand upright. I did this to you, so at least let me see you to safety, aye?" Emma faltered at this. It was a clear admission of guilt, and remorse, and a desire to make it up to her. He was a perfect stranger with no obligation. To say the least, it made her feel anxious. People didn't treat each other this way without motivation. What was driving him to offer her assistance? Especially considering he was a pirate, weren't they known more for pillaging and plundering than being good Samaritans?

"Where is safety, exactly?" She questioned, trying to ignore that he smelled pretty good for a pirate. Weren't they not big fans of bathing, and clean hair? That's what Pirates of the Caribbean had taught her, anyway. Hook started moving and she followed him in a less stable gait. The way he had her, she didn't have a lot of control over stopping the movement. He was carrying a lot of her weight, she vaguely realized. Was she really that unsteady?

"There's a farm a bit outside the forest," Hook answered, and despite her fuzzy head, it seemed like he was telling the truth. Her 'superpower' was mostly a combination of body language and vocal inflection, so it wasn't at it's most potent at the moment. But she had to hope he wasn't lying, trekking any sort of long distance sounded pretty much impossible right now. Emma lapsed into silence, focusing on not tripping over her feet or succumbing to exhaustion. It was probably the head injury talking, so staying awake was probably important. She was aware of how much she needed assistance right about now, and it was almost painful to accept it. The sooner she could get rid of this pirate, the better. When he spoke, it surprised her. Especially considering the question. "Where are you from, lass?"

Well, that was quite the question. And even though she wasn't sure how to answer, the more important fact was that she didn't want to answer. "Here and there," She answered vaguely, hoping he'd drop the subject.

His grip tightened on her waist. Clearly, he wasn't pleased by that answer. "I'm not talking where you were born, Emma. Where did you come from. What world?"

Wow, well, that was straight and to the point. She didn't know how to answer for a long second. Should she be honest? Was there a point in trying to hide it? Even if he seemed to have figured out that this was not where she belonged, that did not mean that she had to tell him exactly where she was from. What would he do with that information, anyway?

But if he was knowledgeable enough to know she was from a different world... Then maybe, just maybe, he knew how to get her back there. The little flip of hope that flopped about in her stomach was impossible to ignore. In the end, how much was she really risking? She needed the help of someone more knew what they were doing. And just because he knew where she was from, didn't mean that he could take it away from her or use it against her.

At least, she hoped not.

"It's a place called Earth," She confessed uneasily. Was that what her "world" was called? It was hard to say. She knew so little about this subject, that was a guess at best. It was hard to tell what his reaction was to that, in this position she couldn't see his face. Maybe he hadn't heard of it?

"And how did you get here?" He pressed. To say the least, this line of questioning was strange, and she was starting to get uncomfortable. She wasn't sure why. Probably because back home, a casual conversation about portals would have been incredibly strange. To her, it was still incredibly strange.

"What does it matter?" She said, frustration edging into her tone. "If you want to hitch a ride back with me, you're out of luck. It was a one-way trip." She didn't mention that she was bound and determined to get back. It wasn't any of his business.

She felt his grunt more than she heard it. That didn't seem to be the answer he was looking for.

"I gather you're trying to get there?" She attempted to clarify, wondering if he would be more open than she was.

"I'm not completely certain, but I need to go to a world without magic. And when I was there last, it certainly fit the bill." Okay, wow. So, yeah, he was more open than she was. That terminology threw her. Wasn't that what everyone said about the curse? That it had transported them to a world without magic? Was he trying to get to Storybrooke? If so, what in the world could he want there?

"I hate to break it to you," Emma said, faltering slightly (why was walking so hard right now?), "But there's magic there now. I don't know if it's the place you're looking for."

There was a long stretch of silence at that admission. But, it wasn't like she was lying. Gold had brought magic to Storybrooke, with disastrous results. Earth was no longer a world without magic.

"Magic there now?" He clarified sternly. "Meaning what, that there hadn't been previously?"

Emma stumbled, and Hook practically dragged her a couple paces before she could get back on her feet. "I don't know!" She snapped irritably, but that was more of a I don't want to talk about it.

They stopped quite suddenly, and with her support removed, Emma was painfully aware of how unstable she was. He was close enough to reach, but her pride didn't allow her to do it. She blinked at him warily.

"Look, lass. I'm helping you, you ought to help me. You want to get home, don't you? You don't seem like you were particularly prepared for this venture. You've no food, no supplies, no means of protection." She opened her mouth to protest, hand going to her hip to prove she had means of protection, but her gun was notably absent. What the hell...? "Whatever brought you here, it was not by your intention. Well, you're not going to find a lot in the way of assistance here. I'm the best option you've got, love, so unless you're planning on traversing the Enchanted Forest alone, you ought try to be cooperative."

Emma's hackles were raised. That was quite a monologue he'd just given her, with a lot of information to process all at once. She stooped slightly, resting her hands on her knees, trying to focus on keeping her head from spinning.

"Enchanted Forest?" She repeated, stunned. Enchanted Forest, as in the place her parents and most of the residents of Storybrooke had come from? Well, she'd come from there too, technically, but she'd been an infant and didn't exactly remember it. As far as she was concerned, this wasn't her home.

"The one and only. Seems you've heard of it, then." She looked up at Hook, disliking how he was taking advantage of her clearly impaired state. She could hardly stand up straight and he was pumping her for information? Not exactly the most polite way to deal with the situation. So much for that gentleman business. "Most of the populace was transported to a different world in a curse, a world-"

"Without magic. Yeah, I got you," Emma muttered. So it was Storybrooke he was aiming to find. What in the world was he hoping to accomplish there? She hadn't seen a Pan-like character, or any crocodiles roaming the ocean. "Why do you want to go to the world without magic? Which, like I said, has magic now?"

She could tell there was some amount of frustration and uncertainty at that revelation, though she couldn't say why. "There's something there I have to do. I've been waiting years for this moment, and I'm bloody tired of waiting." Emma eyed him skeptically; He was what, early thirties? Not like he could really have been waiting that long.

"Then why are you?" She pressed, slowly righting herself, and pressing a hand to sorest side. "Why not just find a portal and go there?"

"Well, lass, I wish it were that easy. Portals aren't quite easy to come by these days." Emma wasn't able to hide the absolute heartbreak on her features. No, that couldn't be true. She had to find one, she had to get home. She could not stay in this place separated from her family. She would get home, to Henry, to her parents... There was no other alternative. "I didn't say impossible. But if it were as easy as you make it sound, I assure you I would be there already."

Emma didn't know if she liked this Hook character, and she certainly didn't trust him. But as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn't sure she could make it to this farm he mentioned on her own. She needed his help. And it seemed like he knew about this place, enough to maybe get her settled. She wasn't sure how she'd pay him for the information but she'd find a way. She knew for a fact that most of the inhabitants of this world had been taken to a sleepy town in Maine, so she didn't doubt his claim that he was one of very few options.

"Can we get to this farmhouse before we talk more?" She said, an edge of weakness slipping into her voice. She hated being weak, especially in front of strangers, but at this point she wasn't sure how much longer she could remain standing. She was a fairly fit, athletic person, but she was too battered and her head was not made for that much rattling. She was going to have to have a couple hours recuperation before she could be of any use to anyone.

"Does this mean you agree to cooperate?" Hook asked, staring her down. His gaze was intense, and made her uncomfortable. Like he already knew things about her that she didn't want him to know.

"I'm not promising anything. But you have information I need, and I have information you need. I don't see why we can't help each other," Emma said begrudgingly. "Now, can we please go slower this time-"

Before she had a chance to finish her thought, Hook swooped in. She had not been expecting him to pick her up, and she immediately struggled.

"Put me down," She snapped venomously, trying to find a good place to land a blow. Even if it meant he dropped her, she was not some damsel in distress in need of carrying.

"Lass, if you don't settle yourself, I'm going to throw you over my shoulder, and that'll hardly be good for your head." Hook's grip was pretty strong. Emma wasn't exactly weak but she wasn't at her finest at the moment. Nonetheless, her companion would find she was nothing if not determined, sometimes to her own detriment. She landed a sharp and sudden elbow between his ribs, and he stumbled enough for her to clamber to the ground again.

She winced, not from a particular pain but more a combination of all of them. She hunched over again, but didn't let her stooped position stop her from looking out with a poisonous expression on her face. "Don't do that," She warned seriously, though the fact she was now breathless dampened the effect. "Don't touch me when you don't have permission."

Hook was rubbing the spot she'd hit him, but he looked back at her with a surprising lack of both annoyance and shame. "It's a lot less fun to touch a woman when you have to ask for permission every step of the way." He said with a grin. Ugh, why did his smile have to be so attractive? And his face too, while she was bemoaning unfairly attractive features? Instead of responding, she tossed him a look of utter contempt that brought her point across pretty clearly. "Believe it or no, I was trying to help you. It's close to a kilometer to the farm I mentioned, and you're already struggling just to stay on your feet."

She gaped at him. Even with the European measurements, she knew that was more than a mile. "How is that 'a bit' out of the forest?" She snapped, clearly annoyed. Hook shrugged easily.

"It's not a terrible jaunt, lass... At least, for the fully able." Oh, man. Emma bit down the desire to harm him. Who was he calling disabled? She wasn't a dog, she was standing right here and quite conscious of the insult! What an ass. If this were a cartoon, smoke might be coming out her ears by now.

But there was a voice in the back of her mind pestering her that he had a point. She was unsteady on her feet, every last part of her was sore, and her head feel like it was splitting in half. Was she really game to walk more than a mile to get to this supposedly safe place? She was sure she could get some sort of distance, but not that far, at least not quickly.

And if she pushed herself too far... She'd pass out. Then a whole litany of things could go wrong, and she'd have no control over it one way or another. Hook could loot her properly – she still wasn't sure he wasn't trying to do that earlier – or take advantage of her. Or worst of all, he might remember he had no responsibility or obligation to help her once she was unconscious, and leave her passed out wherever she had managed to stagger to. So someone else could do terrible things to her while she was unable to stop them. Or some sort of animal to devour her. At the most minimal end of the terrible spectrum, she'd walk until she was too sore to move, and he'd leave her behind.

As always, her mind was great at supplying all the ways things could go wrong. Preventing them was harder to reconcile. She didn't want to sacrifice the pride, but if she had any chance of getting there with minimal damage... Maybe hitching a ride wasn't such terrible idea. In a less extreme situation, she would never have agreed. She would rather take extra time and energy to be completely independent, just to spite the person who implied she couldn't do it on her own. But this was no ordinary situation. This was too important to let pride get in her way. This was her only chance at the moment, she was not going to let arrogance get in the way of getting home. Besides, he'd offered.

But he was not carrying her fucking bridal style.

"Just for a bit." She conceded painfully. Before he could swoop in again, she clarified, "But you have to carry me on your back." Hook seemed to have the sense to not mock her or further wound her pride, because it would only make her change her mind and they'd be back to square one. He turned around obligingly, stooping enough that she could get a secure grip around his neck. He slowly righted, bringing her with him. It took a moment to get them situated; After all, he had a hook to worry about, which was slightly more awkward than two hands. She didn't need to get stabbed through the leg, too.

It was hard to be in a position like this and maintain any sore of neutrality. She didn't circle her legs around him, he had a grip on her knees so she didn't have to, but straddling his back was hardly much better. Her arms tightened around his neck, just to keep herself stable. He settled into a steady clip, faster than she would have expected considering the fact he had pretty heavy cargo.

"If you wanted to wrap your legs around me, you could have just asked," Hook told her after a blissful moment of silence. She should have known better that she could be in a position like this without him saying something crass.

Emma took advantage of his proximity to slap him across the head. Offending him be damned, she couldn't sit by and let him spout that tripe without a clear message that she didn't appreciate it.

"God, you're disgusting," Emma chastised. "Do you really get girls with lines like that?"

"Well, love, for starters, I leave girls to the boys. I'm after the women, thank you." He couldn't see her but she hoped that he could sense the eye roll. "And yes, since most women don't feel the need to pretend they're disgusted, I'd say they quite enjoy me."

Emma scoffed at this. "Apparently, the women of the Enchanted Forest have all suffered severe brain damage." Hook wasn't exactly doing anything to help keep her up here, she noted. She had to cling to him tightly to keep from falling down. She hated that she had to do it, but she tightened legs around him, just desperate not to fall. That would only set them back further.

"Apparently," Hook mimed her exaggeratedly, "You're not keen to make friends with most of them."

"Are there that many left to offend?" She wondered, genuinely curious. Regina's curse couldn't really affect an entire country (Continent? World? She had no idea what the proper terminology would be here), could it? That was just insane. She was still having a hard time believing in magic, the idea it could transport thousands of people to a completely new world was just baffling.

Her head was still aching, but it was strange how comfortable this was. God, she was exhausted.

"It depends on how you look at it," Hook said evenly, breathing a little more strained, but far less than she'd expected. How strong was this guy?

"What does that mean?" She pressed, not noticing how her head had fallen to his shoulder as she looked at the landscape around them. The forest was behind them, now, and they were in a picturesque field. The place did not look cursed, that was for sure. She could certainly see this as a setting for a fairytale. Beautiful green grass, bright blue sky, interesting flowers and foliage, mountains in the distance and a hint of the ocean to the west if you squinted.

"There are those that remain, despite the curse," Hook explained slowly, following a flattened down path through the grass. He must have come through here, and was following his tracks. His voice was surprisingly soothing when it wasn't spitting innuendo. "But one could argue they are slowly losing what makes them human. The Enchanted Forest is a harsh place now, darling."

"Why's that?" She asked after a beat, her brain working a little more sluggishly now that she wasn't putting all her energy into staying upright.

"Life is not easy. Food is not as prosperous, nor is magic, and those who are left struggle for what remains." Emma could see that. People who were desperate to survive could easily lose their humanity in their single minded quest for self preservation. She was pretty sure she could do some messed up things if pushed to that limit – especially for Henry. She's not sure there's anything she wouldn't do for Henry. "The creatures of the forest seek to reclaim it. Staying alive is not an easy task."

Emma didn't answer, but she had heard him. It was getting harder to keep her eyes open, even though she knew she should. There was a sudden jolt, and she clung to his back, surprised. Emma's head snapped back to look behind her, trying to ascertain why they'd jolted like that. There was no obvious one, meaning...

"Don't do that," Emma snapped, aware that he'd jolted her on purpose. Her head didn't need any more shaking.

"You know, lass, if I'm going to carry you, the least you could do is provide conversation." Emma wanted to be annoyed, but he probably had a point. He was carrying her, she could try and not be dead weight. It would probably make the trip easier.

"I'm not that great at making conversation," Emma said honestly, using pressure from her hips to hoist herself a little higher.

"I find most beautiful women aren't," Hook offered, and Emma struggled with whether to be offended or flattered. She decided on offended, despite the fact he was only agreeing with her. He probably hadn't meant it that way, anyway. She wasn't hard on the eyes or anything, but she had to guess she wasn't at her hottest right about now.

"They probably just don't want to converse with you," Emma said darkly, finding she was feeling something quite similar right about now.

"Lass, you wound me." Hook said dramatically. He probably would have made a ridiculous gesture if his hands weren't full. "Am I truly so deplorable to speak to?"

"I've been around worse, Hook," Emma said after a moment of thought. Really offending the guy probably wasn't the best plan. And he wasn't the worst person she'd ever spoken to, that was the truth. Drunk neanderthals in bars were much worse, and usually the men she'd collected for bonds were not exactly the most charming conversationalists.

"I have a name, if you'd like to use it, you know. Killian Jones, at your service." Emma was surprised at this revelation – not so much that he had a name that wasn't Captain Hook, because really, even in fairytale nobody should be saddled with a name like that – but that he'd told her so openly. Emma wasn't sure how to respond to the statement, so she didn't say anything. The silence stretched long enough before Hook pressed, "You have a surname you feel like sharing?"

Emma's first inclination was to say no, she didn't want to share it, but she bit it down. After all, what was Hook going to do with her name, anyway? "Swan," She said in a stilted, uncomfortable tone. "Emma Swan."

"Swan, eh? Quite an odd name, that." Emma could hardly believe the comment.

"Coming from a guy who goes by Captain Hook? Really?" She shook her head.

"As I said, I'm Killian Jones, not a terrible name. But Swan? I've never heard of a person named Swan." He seemed quite serious. At first, she'd thought he was joking, trying to get a rise out of her. But apparently, he was just baffled at the concept of the last name Swan.

"You know the term 'John Doe'?" Emma asked, not sure if he had or not. She wasn't sure what kind of terms they had in Fairytale-Land, Enchanted Forest... Whatever. They probably didn't have terms like that, come to think of it. But, when a child was found and could not be identified, the state gave them a surname, and often it was a simple word. Such as Doe, Swan, or Green. That was how she'd gotten such an strange moniker.

"Aye... They used it back in London, for blokes they couldn't identify." It was a little strange to hear him talk of London. Did that mean he'd been there before? He'd talked like he'd been to Earth previously, so maybe that made sense. But when exactly had he been there? She was rusty on her literature, but she knew that Peter Pan was written at least a hundred years ago. That opened a whole slew of questions, but she wasn't so sure he'd answer them. "So, nobody could identify you, love?"

Emma hadn't thought she'd been revealing that much. Shit. He didn't really need to know that she'd been abandoned. She wanted to smack herself for being so stupid, if she wasn't too preoccupied hanging on for dear life (not to mention, avoiding further head injury). Or maybe slap him for being perceptive enough to see something in her admission she hadn't even seen.

"Something like that," Emma said bitterly, even though she knew now there was nobody around to identify her but August. She wondered if he'd wandered around telling everyone she was the savior from a different land. It probably didn't matter, because August had abandoned her before she'd even been old enough to remember him in the first place. The first of many to leave her, she thinks darkly, unaware of how she tightens her grip on the leather-clad pirate she's attached to.

Thankfully, Hook seems to read her reluctance to speak on the subject, and doesn't press further. She can practically taste his curiosity, but maybe he knows she won't answer, so he doesn't bother to ask. They lapse into silence, but while she's uncomfortable to start, feeling a little too raw about something so personal being revealed, it slowly softens into something more companionable. At least, not openly hostile, which seems to be an improvement. She does find that she's still tired, but any time she rests her head on his shoulder or her grip gets too lax, she finds him adjusting his grip or giving a jolting step, just to keep her awake.

She realizes it's because he probably knows enough to keep her from sleeping with her head injury. She wants to point out that rattling her poor head even more probably isn't going to help, but she has to admit he has few options available when it comes to keeping her awake. He doesn't have to go through the trouble, and does anyway. She knows that some part of it is purely selfish – he needs the information she has and thusly, has to keep her alive enough to tell it. But it still makes her feel strangely, that a perfect stranger is looking out for her.

He must really want to hear what she knows, she decides. That's the only thing that makes sense.

Emma is aware, painfully so, how much she has benefited from his help already. If he hadn't shown up, where would she be? Still suspended in a net? Maybe she could have gotten out on her own, or someone had shown up. There was really no knowing how that situation would have panned out, and she didn't want to waste energy on what might have been. She may not like Hook, but he knew his way around this place. Despite being born here, and technically the daughter of the monarchs, she knew nothing about the Enchanted Forest. She needed a guide that had an idea of what he was doing. She just didn't have the information to do this by herself.

At least, not yet. She hoped that she could get all she needed from Hook before he caught on she didn't have much information to share. As far as Emma was concerned, their separation was eminent. The thought of that made her reliance on him now a little easier to bear. He'd be gone soon enough, and she wouldn't have to think about how much she owed him or how he'd seen her at her weakest. She knew that as soon as Hook got what he wanted, he'd disappear. She was used to this song and dance, and she was ready for it.

She would get all she needed out of Hook before he abandoned her. She was good at that, after all. She'd been played too many times, burned too often, not to know how to play along with the game. She would get what she wanted, and she would find a way to get home. And she wouldn't let the pirate get close enough to her to betray her. Sooner or later, he would stab her in the back. She knew men like him, it was just their nature. They didn't understand anything else.

She wasn't here to make friends with the pirate, after all. All she cared about now was getting home to Henry and her family. Everything else beyond that was secondary. It was just a matter of being aware that at some point, he would betray her. It was knowing the signs, seeing it coming, breaking away from him before he got the chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

It took a little more than an hour to get to their destination. Hook carried her most of the way, at least three quarters. But after a comment about how he'd much rather have her legs wrapped around him from the other side, she got too frustrated and insisted on walking. Granted, they traveled half the distance in twice the time, but it seemed to her sacrifice enough to have him carry her as far as he had. She was lucky he hadn't made any comments about how heavy she was – after all, she'd taken the liberty of adopting a doughnut habit, thanks to her job – but really, she would have preferred a fat joke to the innuendo.

After she started walking, though, she was too focused on staying upright and not passing out to talk. Hook would occasionally throw a comment her way, but all she could spare him were eye rolls and glares. He didn't seem bothered enough by her lack of response to stop talking. At this point, Emma was guessing the pirate could talk to a brick wall.

Well, maybe not. He probably would get bored if there wasn't somebody to pester. The brick wall wouldn't give him enough of a reaction to keep him interested. But he could certainly maintain a conversation with, say, a dog or a cat. They couldn't respond, but they certainly could look annoyed enough to stimulate whatever juvenile part of him enjoyed being a nuisance.

The 'farm' he'd promised her was not much of a farm, now. The fields were covered in tall, dry grass. A serious fire hazard, she thinks, limping through it. It seems like just friction might set it ablaze. The path through it was slim, and she had to follow behind Hook closely if she didn't want to forge her own path. In fact, the grass didn't seem that flat... This might have been a path Hook had cut through the field pretty recently. Of course he couldn't go around the field. But it didn't seem to be a crop, really... Just grass. So worse things could have happened, it wasn't like he'd traipsed his way through a profitable crop.

The field was quite small though (probably large, for a population who had no mechanical tools to cultivate it), it seemed lazy that he couldn't just go around. She was too tired to question it, though, following behind him as carefully as she could.

When they cleared the useless field of grass, the farm itself was … Well, to say the least, it didn't look particularly lived in. She hadn't really thought about the sort of disrepair she'd see in place that had been mostly empty for 28 years. A part of her had thought this farm they had been heading to would be inhabited. This place... the only thing inhabiting this place was broken dreams and memories of what used to be.

It was uncomfortable, like walking in a graveyard or a haunted house. Not a college students slap together a scare show at Halloween Haunted House, a place where someone had died Haunted House. Maybe she was too old to believe in ghosts, but she did. She had left an apartment once because she had been absolutely certain it was haunted.

She thinks now it might have been more that she was 17, alone, living in a terrible neighbor with questionable neighbors, and even cracks in the floor had scared her. She allowed herself to be scared of ghosts, because she didn't want to admit she was scared of people.

The farm is pretty large, all things considered. There's a building that must have been a barn, at one point; and one for storage, and of course the farmhouse itself. There's even an outhouse with a cliché moon carved into the door. She's not sure she wants to risk entering it yet, though it has to be better than a bush somewhere.

Emma wants to collapse into the bed the second she sees it, even though it's probably made of straw or raw wool or something else decidedly not as comfortable as she's accustomed to. But she doesn't, forces herself not to. Her painful pride keeps her from it, because even though the pirate carried her most of the way, she has a point to prove. She's not weak, she doesn't need his help, and she's not so delicate that she's going to fall asleep the second she's given the opportunity.

She creaks slowly into a sitting position on top of the table, which is a strange place to sit but there's nothing on it and chairs are markedly absent. She makes airs of ignoring Hook as he ambles about the place with a strut that Jack Sparrow would be jealous of. She's slowly aware that he's doing the same thing she is. Watching her but trying to hide he was doing it.

Frustrated with the mind games, she focuses her attention to taking off her treacherous boots. Her feet are aching, and she's got no doubt her bruises have broken open. She doesn't know if she wants him to see it, but she can hardly send him out. He seems to operate on his own devices, so she doesn't have much of a leg to stand on when it comes to asking things of him.

She stubbornly doesn't want to ask anything of him, besides.

Blonde hair falling in her face, she sets to work on her laces, and she hears him moving behind her. She forces herself not to turn around to figure out what he's doing. Turns out she doesn't have to, as he brushes past her without a word, opening the door and exiting the humble house without even a backwards glance. He even leaves the door wide open. A part of her worries where he's disappeared to, but her curiosity isn't strong enough to follow him. If she's even capable of it. He'll be back, she figures, he still wants to pick her brain over what she might potentially know. Maybe he's getting food. Her stomach growls at that idea. Or … Maybe he has to pee. Or he has to flounce around a certain amount of hours per day or he loses his status as captain. It's not important, and she decides not to think about him again until she has to.

She returns to picking at her laces, her feet aching all the more as they get closer and closer to leaving their confinement. Emma worries that the lack of pressure of her boots surrounding the injuries will just make her feet ache all the more, but she finds she has little choice in the matter. She's got to see the damage, and try and bandage it up with something. What is a great question. Her shirt is cotton and would work... If it was clean. Besides, she doesn't want to part with what little shirt she's got when there's a leering pirate around.

Emma distracts herself first by taking off her jacket, placing it with surprising delicacy next to her. Unfortunately, this stalls about 15 seconds. Okay, she's stronger than this. She's not scared of taking off a pair of boots, damnit. Emma takes the first off abruptly, figuring it was best to do it like a band-aid. She gasps at the pain. Okay, so maybe she should have taken it slower. She sees spots of blood on her sock from where her blisters have burst open. She closes her eyes and eases off the second boot, having learned her lesson.

She wishes she had a hair elastic to tie her mane back with, as it does its best to be in the way as she slowly peels off her socks. The blood is everywhere but at least there aren't that many sores to worry about. Three on one foot, two on the other. She realizes, slowly, that she should have found water to clean herself up with and bandages to cover the injuries once they were clean ibefore/i she took off her shoes. Now her feet are bare, bleeding, and she's stranded in the middle of a filthy room, seated on a dirty table.

Damn it.

Like a needy child demanding her attention, her head pulses with pain. As if she didn't have enough to worry about. She paws at her jacket for a moment, hoping to find her aspirin, but she doesn't find it. Baffled, she picks up her jacket to thoroughly inspect her pockets for it (or her hand sanitizer, or her wallet for that matter. All she can find are her jingling keys with the useless flashlight and her handcuffs), when the door opens again. She eyes Hook as he re-enters, armed with two pails of water.

So that's what he was doing.

"Do pirates have to be surrounded by a certain amount of water or something?" She asks sarcastically, wishing she could hide her marred feet. She tosses her jacket back down, frustrated with all the things she's missing. There's two possibilities... They fell out, or Hook managed to pocket them while he was frisking her when she was too out of it to stop him.

Hook doesn't answer for a long beat, and she realizes far too late because he's enjoying the view of the newly uncovered flesh. Her tank top doesn't leave much to the imagination – there's not a lot of fabric to go around, and what's there is practically see-through. She could be embarrassed, or try to rebuke him for staring, but instead she mimes, "You're lucky looking is free."

"Does that mean what's on display is for sale?" Hook queries, bringing one of the buckets to rest below her feet. She wants to smack that jeering smile off his face.

"If it was..." She tilts her head, in a way she knows flaunts her best assets from this angle. She watches his gaze follow as intended, from her green eyes to her slim throat to her breasts... "You sure as fuck couldn't afford it." She finishes crassly, crossing her arms as if she dares him to try it and see how far he'll get.

"Lass, I am a pirate. We're not exactly a lot hurting for coin." Emma rolled her eyes, a shining beacon of unimpressed. "But a man need not pay for what he can get for free, don't you agree?"

Emma wasn't sure if that meant she wasn't worth paying for or that he thought she was easy enough to fuck him for free, but whatever it was, he was going to be pretty disappointed if he thought they were going to break in that bed together. He wasn't hard on the eyes, maybe. But she was not stranded in this desolate place looking for a roll in the hay (maybe literally, she still wasn't sure what that bed was made of). She needed to get home, to Henry, her family. If Hook thought he was anything but a possibility of getting home, then he was crazier than Jefferson.

Emma shrugged. "Certainly. So it's a good thing you have at least one hand, isn't it? It's probably the only date you'd get for free." She raised her eyebrows innocently, wondering if he'd even follow the comment. He didn't seem pleased, so if she had to guess... Probably.

"I'm starting to agree with your sentiments. You are decidedly not ladylike," Hook sniffed, turning towards a rickety cupboard near the fireplace. From inside he drew a couple cloths, all looking questionable in the clean department, but about now she'd take anything she could get. She would just hobble over there and grab some-

And then, he dropped the ones he'd gotten on her lap. She blinked at them, befuddled, as if she wasn't sure what they were.

"Are you going to clean up those fair feet or do you suspect they'll patch themselves up all on their own?" He questioned. Emma fumbled to pick up the fabric, not sure what to do with herself. Why had he given them to her? He had no obligation to help her, especially now that he'd seen her to relative safety. She'd been expecting him to leave her up to her own devices as far as her injuries were concerned. "Or are you hoping I'll do it for you?"

"I can take care of myself," She snapped automatically, a knee-jerk response. "Besides, I'm not sure what kind of first aid you could accomplish with only one hand." She teetered dangerously on the table, trying to grab the bucket and lift it to sit next to her, where she could reach it easier.

Again, he startled her by moving first. He used his hook to drag the pail up to the table. At first his helpfulness was confusing, but now it was starting to annoy her. Emma sent him a caustic look, but put a rag in the sharply cold water (was it from a well? Must have been deep, to be this cold). It took some rearranging and effort on her sore limbs to cross one foot over the other, but she managed. She winced as she worked at washing off the blood, but she found herself wishing she could soak her feet in the water. No doubt he would mock her for the waste of it.

"Where are all of my things?" Emma asked him, breaking the silence. The pirate was leaning against the wall, no longer hiding the fact he was watching her. He adopted an easy mask of innocence, one that probably would have convinced a lot of people. Luckily for her, Hook didn't know about her superpower.

"Things...?" He repeated, eyebrows raising as if he wasn't sure what she meant and hoped she'd elaborate.

"My aspirin, my broken cell phone, my wallet, my hand sanitizer... Oh, and my gun." She'd give him points for that killer poker face, but she didn't buy it for a second.

"Love, I'm not sure what any of those things are. I'm afraid you must have lost them in the drop." Emma scowled at that.

"No I did not, you relieved me of them after the drop. Why did you leave the keys? Were they too jingly to take without my noticing?" Hook sent her a look of utter confusion that she'd seen on Henry a couple times. It looked better on her ten year old son, she decided. "God, would you stop? Who is this show for, exactly? Cause I'm clearly not buying. Just give me my things."

Hook gave her an evaluating glance, as if contemplating his answer. Finally, after she'd finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other, he stated, "If you think I might have something that belongs to you, I suppose you'll just have to search me."

God, he was insufferable. "Are you that desperate to get me to run my hands all over you?" She snapped, eyes focusing on her work for a stretch as she cleaned up a particularly ghastly wound.

"It seems to me you are looking for an excuse to, love, thought I'd make it easier for you." Emma shot him a dark glare. Was he able to think about anything without finding something sexual about it? He was worse than teenage boys back on Earth.

"I thought we were supposed to be partners. I'm not telling you anything until you give me my things back," She snips with an air of finality. Hook looks at her begrudgingly, and Emma focuses on her work because as a pickpocket, she knows sometimes it's easier to give things back when you're not being watched by the injured party. She was caught a couple times shoplifting, and though she was never arrested until she was with Neal, she had been caught. Some shop owners went easy on her because she was young and delicate looking. They felt bad for her, or had ways they thought she could make it up to them. But the looks on their faces as she was forced to hand over what she'd stolen still made her stomach turn, just remembering them. Anger, distaste, or worst of all, pity.

She hears the noises of things being set on the table slowly, deliberately, as if Hook would rather she watch. She doesn't hear enough being returned, and she sends him a look.

He's twirling her pistol as easily as a cowboy. It makes her uneasy, but at least the safety is on.

"Do you even know what that is?" She asks. "That's part of the deal. I want it back."

"Oy, lass, don't you suppose you carting firepower would be a little... unfair?" She freezes, as she'd been certain he wouldn't know what the gun was. "It's certainly more refined than a blunderbuss, but aye, I know what it is."

She swallows, considering her options. It's her only form of weaponry, and she wants it back so badly it nearly hurts. But it probably sends the wrong message to want to be armed if this is a partnership.

"Please," She finally rebuts, the word not so much pleading as a sarcastic barb. "You're hiding a knife on you somewhere. Maybe two. And you have a fucking hook for a hand."

Hook frowns at this. None of the listed weapons are exactly a gun, but by his own logic, keeping her gun would make it unfair to her, seeing as he was far more armed than she.

He keeps her gaze as he moves to the cabinet again, retrieving a basket. He sets it on the table, and slowly sets in her pistol, as if he expects her to lunge for it the second he lets go. She doesn't, watching him. Then, he fishes out not one, not two, but three daggers, that he'd had hidden somewhere on his body. She's kind of impressed – that leather doesn't leave a lot of room for hidden blades.

Hook then moves the basket to the top of the cabinet, where either of them could reach them if so desired.

"Savvy?" He states, opening his arms in what must be a placating gesture. Emma wants to remind him he's still carting a pretty deadly looking hook, but it would be kind of like taking a prosthetic from an amputee. She doesn't push it for now, and gives him a shrug in answer.

She decides she doesn't care what he thinks or how much he bitches about blood in their water, she's soaking her feet. She grabs it by the handle and for lack of better ways to put it down, drops it, losing a splash over the edges. She drops her feet in with a soft sigh. Oh, that felt lovely. Her eyelids felt heavy when she closed them, so much so that she allowed herself to keep them closed. Just for a moment...

She startled when she felt a damp dab at her hairline. Her eyes snapped open. Hook had taken her wet rag, without her asking, and had set about cleaning an injury on her head. This guy had a serious problem with giving people personal space. He traced her hairline with surprising delicacy, but that wasn't the point. She moved to swat him away, but his words stalled her.

"You've got quite a nasty mark here, Swan." As the cloth ghosts across the bruise she can only imagine, she winces. Well, he's certainly right about that one. And lucky for her, the bruise is the same place she'd been scratched.

"It's probably from a moron dropping me from a net," She pointed out, uneasy with him this close. His eyes weren't on her, focused on their task, but she's still uncomfortable. She didn't ask for his help, and she's pretty damn sure she doesn't want it. But for some reason, she doesn't push him away all the same.

Hook doesn't throw up wall of protest that he'd warned her before the drop, either. Is that … remorse that she sees in his (admittedly handsome) features? She is wary and distrusting of it. It's probably another act, and hell would freeze over before she bought it.

Unfortunately for her, her superpower was knowing when someone was lying. That did not necessarily mean she knew when they were telling the truth.

Her hand rose, closing over the cloth, a clear indication that she wanted to take over the job. Hook seemed to take the hint, slowly releasing the rag, and stepping away. Emma set herself to washing down what skin she had exposed with the unbloodied side of the rag. It was a little embarrassing to take a sponge bath in front of the lecherous pirate, but what choice did she have? It made her feel a little less grimy, which was always appreciated. She didn't mind getting dirty, as long as she could get clean after. Getting dirty and remaining dirty were two different things. She longed for the stream she'd bathed in not too long ago – a day? Two? Hard to say – but she wasn't about to ask Captain Hook where the next body of water fit for bathing was. She could only imagine the perverted and decidedly unhelpful things that would spew from him.

"Is there anything here to eat?" She asked, setting down her wet rag and setting to work on the dry one. She had to tear it into strips to put on her feet. She wasn't sure what she would do with her socks. There wasn't much hope of getting the bloodstains out without some spot remover and a washing machine, neither of which she was armed with. Well, even if she couldn't remove the stains completely, she could at least clean them up a tad. Emma leans forward to wash them the best she can in the bucket, before she lays them to dry on the table.

"No," The pirate answered after a moment. "I will go out and procure some. You ought rest."

Emma wanted to argue. But she had absolutely nothing on her side with this argument. She needed food, but she couldn't get it right now. She could barely even move right now. And sleeping sounded pretty heavenly, even if it was pretty early for that (no later than four or five). However, if she was asleep... A whole slew of things could happen. Most alarming of which, Hook might abandon her, take her things, and she'd never see him again. She could hardly go with him, and she couldn't tell him not to leave her, either.

She was also uneasy with the idea of the pirate being awake and alert while she was asleep and decidedly not alert. Emma knew full well if she went out, she'd be out like a light. And probably, for far more hours than a body normally needed.

"No. I want you to stay here," She finally said, surprising herself with her answer. Hook seemed surprised, too.

"Oh? Are you so longing for my company, Emma Swan?" He wondered. Not a surprising comeback for him, really.

Emma glowered at him, but honestly responded, "I don't trust you to come back." There was a long moment of silence that stretched between them, as apparently neither one knew what to make of that admission.

"What have I done to make you distrust me so?" The pirate asked, adopting the affect that probably screamed honorable and trustworthy to the less perceptive.

"For starters, you picked my pockets when I was too unaware to stop you." Hook's expression faltered at that. Yeah, that wasn't the most trustworthy thing to do. "And secondly, you're a pirate. Not the most trustworthy bunch."

Hook didn't deny that accusation, either. He paused in contemplation over her words, before asking, "What, exactly, would you rather me do?"

Well... shit. Good question. Emma fumbled her thoughts around, finding that her thinking was decidedly slower than usual. Probably the head injury. What did she want him to do? Sit around the cabin so they could stare at each other, not eating, her on the cusp of sleep the entire time? That was stupid. No, she was going to have to sleep. There was no way around it. She eyes the bed warily. It's small, but there's certainly room for two...

The pirate catches her glance and eggs her on. "You want me in your bed, Miss Swan? I thought you'd never ask."

She straightens her spine, idea coming together slowly. "Yes," She agrees. The shocked expression on his face is priceless, and she wishes her phone wasn't broken so she could snap a shot of it. "I want you in that bed, next to the wall."

"Odd sense of foreplay," The pirate says, slowly slinking past her. He seems aware that her request is not exactly as it seems, but she finds it surprising that he complies nonetheless. He settles on the bed, lanky limbs seeming far too long for it. Emma pulls her feet out of her soak. They seem to scream in protest that the water is gone, but she has no choice. She doubts he'll remain there forever, and he's right where she wants him. Emma hurriedly winds the strips of fabric she's prepared around her feet, covering the wounds the best she can. She'll do a better job after she's rested. Emma's hands run under her jacket as she readies herself to drop down to the floor.

Her body creaks as she lowers herself to the floor, but she moves to follow him to the bed. Hook looks genuinely stunned as she moves toward him. He's probably trying to reevaluate the situation, trying to figure out what her game is.

Emma gingerly moves to join him in the bed, surprised that it's filled not with straw but feathers. It's much more comfortable than she'd been expecting. She lays on her side, propping herself up on one elbow.

"Now, love, you put up a mighty good show, but I knew you'd turn around," Hook offers, running a hand down arm. Emma shivers, quite despite herself.

"I'm a pretty good actress," She agrees, moving her arm so his hand drops to her waist, but only for a moment. She takes his hand in one of hers and leads it back behind her body, pulling his arm around her. Her spare hand reaches into her back pocket, but it's probably not something Hook notices, as she can feel his warm fingers stretching across her back, presence notable even through the fabric of her shirt.

"Must be exhausting," Hook's voice echoes into the skin of her neck, his hot breath ghosting across her skin. She can feel goosebumps rise across the sensitive flesh of her neck. Apparently, despite her body being completely exhausted, some parts of her respond without much mental stimulation. He's a good looking man, and you've gone without for a really long time, she reassures herself.

"So exhausting," She agrees, tilting her head so her nose brushes against his. They're so close, and yet-

"Bloody hell!" The pirate says suddenly, as cold metal clasps around his wrist, the one with the hand still attached. Emma retreats, leaving him to figure out what exactly she's done to him. The bed isn't exactly a heavy metal frame with convenient openings, and offered nothing for her to attach her cuffs to. The only option she had was herself. It's going to be awkward, with his right hand attached to her left, but one thing is for sure...

He's not going anywhere without her noticing.

She settles down, trying to keep herself from looking too pleased. It'll only irritate him further.

"You're a damned devil, woman," Hook accuses her. Emma shrugs at this, turning onto her side. She usually sleeps tucked into a ball when alone, it'll be interesting trying to sleep with the pirate next to her (especially one that is currently incensed) but it does manage to solve her problem of losing him while she sleeps.

"I did tell you I was a pretty good actress," She reminds him evenly, letting her eyes shutter closed. Hook pulls at the cuff, which only makes her features contort in annoyance.

"What in the blazes are these things?" He asks, trying to tug his hand out without much success. She understands his confusion, but his tugging is dragging her arm over with the action, and it's a little distracting.

"Handcuffs. I'll take it off after our rest." Emma says pointedly, pulling her arm back towards herself, and forcing Hook's to cross over his body. "Think about it this way, you can't lose me this way, either."

Hook doesn't seem terribly pleased with the arrangement despite that fact. "What if someone comes after us, princess? Am I supposed to drag you about my wrist as I fend them off?"

Emma opens her eyes enough to glare at him. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. I suppose we'll have to figure it out if it happens. Considering this world is supposedly quite empty, I'm not so worried about it."

Hook doesn't answer – probably because she has a point and he doesn't want to admit it.

Her hand moves decidedly in his direction, and Emma frowns, trying to pull it back. Her arm is stretched across his body, but he seems quite immovable in his desire to keep his hand at his side. "Lass, you're the one who decided to chain us together. You get to follow my lead in where our arms happen to rest."

Once again, she thinks he's not as much of a gentleman as he claims. Her arm is slung across his midsection in a fairly uncomfortable way, but there isn't much she can do for it. He's probably right, he should get a bigger say in sleeping arrangements. It would be easier if his hooked hand was on the other side, then the two arms in the middle would be linked, instead of both of them being connected at the left. She doubts she'll be able to coerce him into it again, but him being on the wall side made it doubly difficult for him to get by her without her waking. Especially with the cuffs between them.

Emma shifts onto her side, letting her left arm go across his body with no other comment. She can feel Hook silently fuming next to her, but she ignores it in favor of trying to sleep.

Her mind slowly thinks of something else, and she warns him without opening her eyes, "If you try and touch me, I'm going to chop off your other hand."

Hook rattles the chain between them pointedly, before stating, "You'd have a much harder time trapping me then, wouldn't you." Emma doesn't mention that she'd find other places to put the cuffs. Hook also bites out, "I won't be touching you, Swan. I remind you that I am a gentleman, though you are certainly no lady."

"I warned you," She points out, sufficiently convinced that she will wake up if he tries anything (not so much that he won't, despite his words). It should have been hard to fall asleep with a stranger seething next to her, attached to her by the wrist. Emma finds it's not as hard as she was expecting, quickly falling asleep, though she isn't sure if her companion follows her or not.


	4. Chapter 4

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

She's not sure exactly what wakes her, but her body slowly drags itself back towards consciousness. She can hear birds chirping outside, as if it were a picturesque morning that she's missing out on. Emma can't drag herself awake, however, finding herself far too comfortable. She's in a bed, after all. A _bed._

In her mind, she's at home in Mary Margaret's apartment. When she does drag herself out from under the covers, there will be a bathroom with running water, and a kitchen with a coffeemaker. Not too far off will be her roommate, or mother technically, probably snuggling with her newly rediscovered husband. There might even be breakfast on the stove. And her son will be there, talking a mile a minute about what they ought to do now that the curse was broken.

But the way her body aches, she knows that's a naïve fantasy. It's naïve, yes, but she doesn't want to let go of it just yet. She thinks about how much she misses it, when she feels a light touch in her hair.

It's distracting, and disconcerting. She frowns slightly, focusing on the touch. Neal used to stroke her hair as she slept. At the time she'd decided it was romantic, though now she's sure if someone tried it on her, she might feel like a dog. But this motion is decidedly not _stroking_, its... Rifling?

Hook is searching her hair for something.

_Really?_

Emma isn't sure what he expects to find, but whatever it was, he gives up after a minute of surprisingly unobtrusive searching. She wants to turn around and look at him, see if he found what he'd been on the hunt for, but she feigns sleep a little longer, wondering if she can figure out what he's up to without looking at him. She can feel him shifting next to her, mostly because her arm is still slung across his waist. Her forehead is resting against his shoulder – something she does not remember doing before she fell asleep. She'd probably moved closer to him in her sleep. Not something she should be ashamed of, it wasn't like she could control it.

She hears the soft noises of metal clinking together, but she can't place what it might be. He's probably doing something to the cuffs, but with what? She slowly opens her eyes, just a tad, to see Hook trying to break open her cuffs with his namesake, looking surprisingly fixated on the task. She also sees a very small blade resting on his stomach, as if he'd retrieved it and tried that first and given up on it.

...He'd really had four of those things on his person? Where in the world was he hiding them? That leather get up really did not offer a lot of hiding places.

"That's not going to work," She tells him blearily, using her free hand to rub at her eyes. Jones does not startle, though his eyes do slide in her direction. Not that he's got to strain himself to look at her when she's this close. He doesn't seem much happier to be attached to her than he was last night, but she can't really blame him. He's got exactly one good hand and with her attached to it, it's much less useful.

"Ah, Sleeping Beauty, I was starting to think I'd never see those green eyes again," Hook says, though his tone is not as flirtatious as usual. She tells herself she doesn't miss it.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Emma murmurs, though she's tempted to go back to sleep. Hook is a hell of a lot more alert than she is; He's probably been awake for awhile. She wonders how long he's been at work on those cuffs. She also wonders how long she's been asleep. She throws a glance behind her at the sole, shuttered window. Light is peeking through, but it had been light out when she had fallen asleep. It really didn't tell her much.

"Saves me the trouble of having to cut off that hand of yours to get free of this contraption," Hook responds. His low voice seems to vibrate in her bones, and sleepy and disoriented as she is, she has to say she likes it. Even if he was currently using it to make threats. Okay, she definitely needs to wake up. She drags herself into a sitting position, wincing a little at how sore she is. She should be used to this by now, but it seems to surprise her every time.

"What were you digging in my hair for? Looking for fleas?" She inquires, rubbing her eyes with her free hand.

"You're filthy enough to have them, you know," Hook points out, as he never seems to be able to decide if he would rather hit on her or insult her. She thinks it's fair to say he's maybe not so fond of her at the moment, but still, she doesn't have fleas. It's a low blow.

"And yet, you practically leaped into that bed when I asked you to," She reminds, finding she is awake enough now to roll her eyes.

"Come now, lassie, a little dirt never scared away a pirate," Hook says, as if this is something to be proud of. Emma is scared to think of the sexual connotations that offers. However, she sends him a look, which presses him enough to answer her question. "Some ladies have pins in their hair."

Emma blinks, considering this. She does occasionally find bobby pins in her hair days after using them. She's got so much hair, she can lose them sometimes. He had a fair guess, but undoing cuffs with a hair pins isn't an easy task. And oh, has she tried. Maybe the old-timey pins he's used to are stronger than the weak ones she had to work with.

Once she is sitting, it isn't as hard to drag herself to her feet. Her limbs feel rickety and awkward, like a baby fawn who just learned to stand, but she has a feeling a combination of being fully awake and pain killers would help that immensely. She feels Hook exit the bed behind her, and they are unable to maintain a lot of distance when attached at the wrist. Ignoring her extra luggage, Emma stretches her weary limbs, giving a satisfied sigh as she does so.

Hook's arm lingers uselessly in the air as she moves. Even with a cloud of sleep still clinging to her, she can tell his eyes linger somewhere besides her arms stretched above her head. She rolls her neck and her shoulders, trying to work out the kinks, and ignores the ogling of lecherous pirates.

"Quite finished? I would like these bloody irons off," Hook states, shaking the cuffs between them to punctuate his point. Her stretches felt good; listening to him bitch, less so.

"What do you know, a man who avoids attachment." Emma states wryly, the statement half a joke as she begins moving wearily towards the table, where her coat and her keys had spent the night.

"Love, if you fancy being attached to me, I have a slew of better places to try." Emma eyes are getting sore from rolling so frequently, so instead gives him one of passing disinterest. "I find being attached by the wrist terribly dull."

Emma ignores him, fishing through her pockets to locate her keys. She drags his hand closer as she fiddles with the key. Her fingers run across his red and raw skin around his wrist for a quick moment. She knows it isn't tight enough to have caused that much damage even if he had tossed and turned in his sleep. He had tried to pull his hand through. _Good luck with that one, buddy._ Emma had only managed such a feat once herself, and the guard hadn't found her parlor trick very clever. Neither had her wrists, for that matter, especially when she'd gotten the cuffs clamped even tighter the second time around as a reward for her escape.

It takes her a moment, but he's quickly released from the handcuffs. She expects him to run circles and celebrate his freedom, but he seems dead set on sulking instead. That was his business, she decides, setting to work on the lock on her own side.

It's a little more awkward, kind of like zipping up your own dress. But Emma Swan can best zippers, so she can handle this. Though she much prefers side zippers, which are simply easier for a girl who lives alone. Just because she is capable of a back zipper doesn't mean she likes to go through the hassle. She thinks, faintly, of a certain hot pink number that never made it to the dry cleaner. It had a side zipper. What a waste.

Her pride refused to allow her to ask for a hand, and besides, she isn't sure how much help the pirate could be. That hook doesn't look to be designed for detail work. However, with only slight fumbling, she manages to free herself as well.

She tucks her cuffs into her pocket as she realizes that her former captive has been suspiciously silent. He lingers at the edge of her peripheral vision silently, and that almost is more annoying than the flirting. Emma pretends to ignore him, popping a few of her pain killers. She busies herself with pulling her fingers through her atrociously messy hair, even making mental plans to plait it and tie it with one of strips of cloth. She is in the process of wetting a rag to wash her face when he cuts in.

"As much as I appreciate your desire to gussy up for me, darling, don't you suppose we could speed it up?" Emma's annoyance practically crackles in the air like thunder, but if Hook notices he doesn't say anything. She had not missed the innuendo. She wonders if she cuffs him again, will he go back to the silent brooding? "Maybe go find that food, now that you've delayed me a good fourteen hours."

"Don't be such a child A few hours without a snack won't kill you," Emma states unsympathetically, but the look on Hook's face says he's not game for a whole lot of discussion. Emma huffs, sitting down to put her death traps that were conveniently made to look like boots back on her feet. The bandages have held well enough, she'll re-wrap them when they find this food and bring it back.

Until, of course, she notices that Hook has procured a bag and is currently stuffing it with anything not nailed down.

"What are you doing?" She asks, even though it is very clear. She feels badly about taking the possessions of others, even if the owners of this place are probably back in Storybrooke. It just feels strange, to liberate their belongings, even if they aren't here to use them.

"I assume that you'll need to wrap those again later," Hook says in a slow, placating voice, as if she might not be able to follow him if he used big words or talked too fast. Emma hates how easily he can annoy her. It's worse than all her boyfriends in high school. At least she'd gotten sex out of those losers. She wasn't even sure Hook would be good for that, he had only one hand after all. (She tells herself that but a part of her thinks he could make good use of the hand he has.)

"I'm sure I will, but probably after we're done collecting food," Emma snaps. A part of her had assumed they'd return to the farm after they found whatever sustenance he was hoping for. Apparently she was wrong.

"I didn't realize you were here on holiday, Swan," Hook said in a light, faux-conversational tone, which she found even more annoying than the _speak slowly for the lower species_ tone. Emma stalks up to him, boots still untied, and jabs an angry finger at her chest.

"I'm not here on fucking _holiday,_ you fucking asshole. Could you be civil for two seconds? I'm starting to think my chances were better up in that net." Emma should know that she's standing too close for her own comfort, but as always, anger clouds her judgment. Hook doesn't seem concerned or particularly intimidated by her pokes to his chest, which in hindsight, she's not sure why he would be. She should have shoved him, or something.

"Just a friendly tip, don't restrain a bloke if you prefer him to be _civil,_" the pirate snaps, and she realizes suddenly his is both taller and stronger than her. Never one to back down from a fight usually, Emma knows she needs to backpedal at least a little. As much as she hates to admit it, she still needs his help. Or, at least, he's her best chance at the moment. Wandering around alone, baffled, and confused isn't going to help her. He at least puts up an appearance of knowing what he's doing. Until she knows what kind of game plan to make, she's never going to make it back home. But she refuses to yield and show weakness.

"Look, I'm sorry about the cuffs. I was exhausted, sore, and not thinking clearly. I just needed to be sure you wouldn't abandon me, all right?" Most apologies were not delivered in her current terse timber, but Emma found she couldn't manage a sweet, placating alternative.

She isn't sure if he's convinced by her words, either, but he doesn't snap at her again. He considers her slowly, and for a moment she's pretty sure he's going to hit on her or leer at her breasts (which are really right in front of him for the leering), but he doesn't do either. "This is going to be a troublesome adventure if you refuse to trust me at every step, Emma," he says suddenly, and she's unnerved by the change in his demeanor. It's frustrating, how he changes moods at the drop of a hat. She steps back, as if she is only comfortable being close to an angry Hook. At least that one she understands.

"I don't need to trust you to work with you," Emma scoffed, moving away from him to lace up her boots, steadfastly ignoring him, even though she knows he's watching her again.

"What, exactly, made you so distrustful of humanity?" Hook sounded like he was genuinely interested in the answer, which was at least a positive alternative to his condescension and sarcasm. But she still wasn't about to go into soul-bearing philosophy talks with Captain fucking Hook.

"I'm not distrustful of humanity, I'm distrustful of you." Emma corrected, tightening her laces almost brutally. Her feet throbbed in protest, but she ignored it.

Hook laughed at this, which only made her want to strike him again. "Love, let's not play that game. I could see a mile away that you are wary of the world, so don't pretend that you aren't." Emma glared at him, hoping it was as intimidated as she wanted it to be. "What happened to you, that you so vehemently reject the idea of relying on others? I've seen my share of orphans, and some are certainly world-weary, but you act as every human you've ever met has personally rejected you."

"Would you shut up?" She snapped, certainly lacking in eloquence, but not wanting to explore this conversation any further. "And I'm not an orphan."

"Ah-ah, Swan, we're partners, let's not lie to each other. You told me the origin of your name, the only way you could have gotten it was if you were abandoned." Emma actually growled, like an angry feline, but she cut the conversation off at the root.

"You don't know anything about me but my name," She stressed firmly. "And I, for one, would like to keep it that way. Now, are you going to keep needling me or are we going to find that food you were complaining about five minutes ago?"

Hook looked like he was tempted to press her, and watched her with an annoyingly knowing glance, just to contradict her words, but then he waved his hand dismissively. "Well, love, I am quite peckish. If you're finally set to leave, by all means."

Well, good. She liked him better when he listened. If only he could act like this _all_ the time, she thinks. He retrieves the basket of their weapons and she pulls out her handgun without thinking. Hook surprises her by offering one of the impressive daggers, the only one with a scabbard. She thinks about refusing, but ends up stowing it in the waistband of her pants, the opposite side of where she holsters her gun. Once they're ready to quit the place, she storms out. Hook follows behind her all liquid grace, an amused smirk playing about that handsome face, and Emma thinks she is going to kill this man before he can be of any use to anyone. She waits for him to take the lead, because even though she would be loathe to admit it, she has no clue where they should go. Hook throws his bag of re-appropriated belongings over his shoulder and saunters back through the field of grass the same way they had come.

She waits for a beat, before pausing long enough to relieve herself at the outhouse. No doubt he'll piss in the grass or something, but she'll delay peeing in the wild as long as she can. Besides, she's pretty sure she can catch up to him when he's walking in a straight line. She doesn't think about the fact he probably will have noticed that she isn't behind him.

He is leaning against the barn when she exits, and even though she _shouldn't_ be surprised, she is. She startles like a sorority girl during initiate week.

"Women, always needing to stop for a piddle before they can do anything productive. It's a wonder you lassies ever get anything done," He states with a grin. Emma rolls her eyes, moving past him for the path through the grass.

"Do you have a side that _isn't _obnoxious? Could we try that one?" Emma snaps, hoping that maybe if he's behind her he will be a little less annoying. She's out of luck, however, as Hook tramples through the grass to make a path directly next to her. She wondered if he even needed actual food. He seemed to feed on her annoyance and discomfort.

"That setting is best witnessed in a bed, but after last time, I'm not sure I trust you. The ground here will do." Hook even gestures widely to the stamped grass in front of them, like an architect at a construction site.

Emma has never been much for prayers, her life has never convinced her that a God has been watching out for her, but right about now she needs the gift of patience from some higher form.

"Don't be bitter that you fell for it hook, line, and sinker," She responds, and for the first time this morning, her comeback seems to have hit home. If she were less perceptive, she might not have noticed, but the slight darkening in those icy blue eyes is signal enough.

"Fool me once, shame on you," He reminds in an overtly preachy tone.

"Oh, yes, and fool me twice, shame on me. Does that mean you intend to fall for it twice?" She asks, sparing him a glance as he stomps through the field with willful glee at his destruction.

"Are you offering, love? Because I suppose I'm willing, but you'll have to fool me a lot farther this time, if you gather what I mean." Emma rolled her eyes at this, taking the time to try to pull her fingers through her hair and braid it back. It wasn't like she had anything else to do at the moment, beyond bicker with the pirate, and keep her feet moving.

"Don't you worry, Hook, we'll just keep it at _shame on me_," She said in a condescendingly reassuring tone.

"We will see about that, love," He says with that over-confident grin on his face. The one that she hates herself for liking. Why is it that she always goes for the shitheads with a bad boy attitude and nice smiles? Why can't she ever go for a nice guy, like Archie?

Her thoughts slip to the nice guy that she had liked long enough to get him killed, and she shuts that thought process down so quickly her head spins.

Maybe hitting and quitting bad boys wasn't so bad, after all. They were still alive at the end of it.

Silence stretches between them as she knits her hair together in a simple but messy plait, and Hook eventually pulls ahead of her, clearly with some aim towards where he is going. He's taller and has a longer gait, and it takes more than she'd like just to keep up. It'll get better, she reasons, it's just that she's sore. She wonders if she'll be able to find a better pair of boots out there somewhere. It's not something she can easily ask, though. They walk all the way back to the forest they'd met, though thankfully not far enough to find the net she'd been trapped in. Or maybe farther, she can't really say, but she doesn't see the net all the same.

Hook pauses suddenly when they hit a river. It must be the one she was following out of the forest, she reasons, until she saw the edge and got too frustrated and pushed out on her own. It's wider now, maybe twenty feet across, with a soft current. It's not too deep, though, she can see the bottom clearly, covered in smooth pebbles.

"There should be food around, Swan. Find some." She frowns, looking over at him. Before she can question what he intends to do with _his_ time, he sighs. "I'll be doing the same. Should I sing loudly, so you don't worry that I've run off?"

She doesn't answer. She hates that she's so desperate not to lose him. Even though he had told her there were others in the Enchanted Forest, she certainly hasn't seen them. At the moment, he is all she has, so _yes,_ she is scared to lose him. He's her ticket home, the only hope she has currently, and losing him would be a little devastating. People leave her, that's all she knows. Why shouldn't a pirate with no compunction to stay with her be any different? It's not even emotional, it's straight instinct that makes her wary of leaving him alone.

"I'm not going anywhere, Swan. If I aimed to leave, I would have done it before you got the chance to shackle me to your wrist." His blue eyes were practically arresting. She told herself that a slight breeze that tickled across her slightly sweaty skin was what caused the shiver, not that devouring look. And with that slight reassurance, he was off, abandoning his sack of stolen sundry items by the bank of the calm water.

Emma's stomach clenched to see him go. As far as she was concerned, there was only a 25% chance he'd come back. But there was nothing she could do to stop him now. If he really wanted to go, he'd go. There's no point in fighting it anymore. Either he would come back or he wouldn't. As it was, she really needed to find some food. She'd gone without for far too long, and though at the moment she wasn't hungry, it was only because her body hadn't realized she'd gone two days or more without food.

It might have been nice if he'd given her a hint as to what kind of food was in this area. She stooped near the river to have a drink, and wondered idly if there were fish in the water. The water was clear and had a current but she had to guess if there were fish, they'd prefer someplace deeper. Besides, she didn't really have the capacity to grab one with her hands. Shooting one seemed wasteful and that dagger he'd given her... Well, a knife is a knife, but she's still not sure her reflexes would be better with a knife than her bare hands.

So much for meat. She splashes the water on her face, before she decides to set out and look for more berries. She'd found some by the river before, maybe she can be lucky twice. She has a resolute feeling Hook might mock her for offering only berries, but some food is better than nothing. She picks out a fairly clean looking cloth from his bag, and then sets off. It takes her about ten minutes to find something edible, but a part of her feels unreasonably accomplished all the same. Strawberries might as well be food of the gods, she thinks, because they taste so delicious she decides they might be her favorite new food. Better with chocolate, granted, but she doesn't think hershey bars grow on trees.

Emma munches on a couple of her finds, and picks way more than she or Hook could eat in one meal. They don't have refrigeration but they'll keep a couple days on their own. It might be nice to have food with them that they don't have to worry about finding more any time they needed a meal.

Right before she sets out, though, she hears the distinct noise of something ruffling in the bushes. She freezes, opting for not moving at all until she knows what the sound is. Her eyes dart around, trying to find the suspect, but there's nothing at head height. She waits, hardly even breathing, until a few more soft noises come from a couple feet away.

It's a rabbit. Such a cute one, too, and _massive. _She's never seen a bunny so large. It doesn't seem to be in any rush, making it's way to the river. Probably for a drink.

She considers her options. Protein is probably going to fill her much better than strawberries, even if it was an easier find. Shooting her gun at a rabbit would probably be a more sure-fire method, but she thinks she might want to save those bullets for more intimidating prey. Her hand falls to the dagger instead. If she misses, it's not much of a loss. She can go pick up the knife again and still have her haul of strawberries. She moves so slowly it's almost painful, trying to keep the action of pulling a knife from it's sheath as silent as possible. The rabbit pauses, ears tilting around, clearly having heard something. But it doesn't run.

Emma holds her breath, aims, and recalls the darts lessons Graham gave her. To his credit, he was a pretty good teacher, but this was a knife, and much heavier.

She throws it sharply, and after a breath, a sense of relief floods her. The knife is buried in the rabbit's side, probably spoiling a good cut, but the triumph of hitting it is fairly overwhelming. She inches to the body, a sense of guilt coating her for a moment. The rabbit is still breathing, but the amount of blood it's losing tells her it won't be for long.

"Sorry," She whispers to the rabbit in confidence. Normally, she wouldn't hunt. She likes animals, they have such sympathetic faces. She hopes she didn't unknowingly kill Thumper, she's always liked him. (What a dumb thought, but it's hard to tell what kind of Disney character she'll meet these days. Who could say if Bambi and Thumper weren't around here somewhere?) When the rabbit finally stops breathing, she reaches out to take a hold of him by the ears. He's surprisingly heavy, but his fur is luxurious. It makes her think of a foster mother who had a bunch of fur coats, almost despite herself.

She washes her knife in the river, wipes the moisture off on her jeans, and then tucks it back in its holder. She ties a soft knot in the cloth holding her pile of strawberries, and then sets back towards where she had come.

She's not been gone more than half an hour by the time she returns, but much to her surprise, Hook is already back. A part of her is surprised to see him, but she swallows that emotion before she can dwell on it. He's already started a fire, cleaned a fish, and started cooking it via skewer. In addition, she sees a pile of cherries on another cloth from the sack. It's a little mind-boggling. How did he catch that fish? Was he hiding a collapsible fishing rod somewhere on him? And how had he managed to collect that much fruit while fishing?

If he's surprised to see she's managed to bring home meat, he doesn't show it. He reaches out for the mammal, and she gives it to him. She's glad she doesn't have to stomach cleaning it. She places her strawberries next to her cherries, and a small smile hits her.

"Strawberries, cherries, and an angel's kiss in spring," She whispers to herself, plucking a few cherries from the pile. She remembers the song, distinctly, and Neal's low voice in her ear as he sang it to her. Despite the catastrophe that was that relationship, the words of that song still makes her remember their time together, how she had felt back then before it had imploded. Even if just for a moment.

"What's that?" Wonders the irish lilt behind her, paired with a sickening snap of bone. The rabbit is beheaded when she turns around, and her stomach protests the visual.

"Nothing," She mutters, skirting around the gruesome display to the other side of the fire. Hook wordlessly hands her the skewer of fish, and she accepts it, even though she's not much of a cook under the best of conditions, and this certainly would not qualify as that.

"That's not a spell of some sort, is it?" He presses, looking mildly curious. Emma grimaces at that one. She doesn't know much about magic, but she would like to stay far away from it.

"No. It's a song." She corrects, trying to delay him from the subject. Hook is making surprisingly quick work of cleaning that rabbit. She's somewhat grateful that she won't be the one to have to do it. He's got it down to just the meat, the head and skin and organs somewhere beyond her eyesight.

"If you aim to serenade me, lass, you'll have to sing a little louder," Hook says, tone playful but not heated. Emma scoffs at that. She pulls the fish out from the flames, testing the flesh with her fingers, her only measure of trying to see if it's cooked. It doesn't seem to be.

"I won't even sing karaoke, so I don't think a serenade is going to happen," She informs him, twirling the fish about in the small flame.

"Keep it about the coals, not the flame. The flame will just burn it." It wasn't a reprimand or a demand, merely a suggestion, so it wasn't as grating as it could have been. Emma still felt a little foolish, not knowing how to cook via campfire, but it wasn't like she'd ever gone on a family camping trip. She and Neal had once attempted to live in a tent, but he'd been the one to do any cooking. And mostly, they lived off of stolen Hostess products and potato chips. "I'm afraid I don't know what Karaoke is, but I don't see how it precludes you from singing to me now."

Emma shook her head. "I don't sing, unless I've had way too much alcohol." At this, Hook looked thoughtful, and she added, "Don't get any ideas."

The look on his face told her that he was getting plenty of ideas, but he didn't air them aloud and she wasn't going to try and pry them out, either. She made a mental note to avoid taking drinks from him. She pulled the fish out again, testing it, and deciding it was cooked enough to stomach. He handed her a plate from nowhere – he'd really stolen their plates? Yeah, they weren't there to be upset by the loss, but really? – and she had no choice but to take it. She didn't want to put the fish in the dirt, after all. Hook retrieved his skewer for rabbit purposes, apparently, and though she wanted to complain that he didn't clean it between fish and rabbit, she wasn't sure pirates cared about cross contamination.

She picked at the fish, but it was too hot to eat at the moment. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her knees, watching him work for a breath. He certainly seemed to know what he was doing better than she did. What was it with men and meat and fire? They just seemed to understand the concept better. Maybe the Neanderthal hadn't been fully coaxed out of them yet. The rabbit smelled pretty good, and even if she had lingering guilt for killing the poor thing, it seemed more palatable to her than the fish. She had always liked red meats over fish.

"So... Jones." She hadn't used his actual name yet, and at hearing half of it, his blue eyes rose to meet her. It felt odd on her tongue, but she figured she should probably give it a shot. He had claimed to prefer to be called that. If she could wade through all the pet names, he used her name pretty freely. It was only fair. "What is the plan? You _do_ have one, right?"

He was silent for a beat, focusing on his work, but he did answer. "I suppose you could say I have a surplus of plans."

"A surplus?" She repeated skeptically. If he had so many ideas, then why exactly was he still stuck here? Apparently, he had a surplus of _bad_ plans.

"The general idea is we must find a portal to escort us to the world without magic." His voice was a lot easier on the ears when it wasn't laced with condescension or misplaced flirtation. "But that's easier said than done in many ways. There are limited ways to open portals. One being through an enchanted item, and there are none left in this world that I'm aware of."

That probably meant hats, like Jefferson's. The hatter had been adamant that she could make his hat work again, but in the end she wasn't really sure. Even now, that she knew he wasn't as crazy as he'd seemed. Jefferson had told her that she was magical, and she wasn't totally sure she believed that. The hat certainly hadn't worked when he'd tried it. But maybe it was because there hadn't been any magic in Storybrooke at the time? Even still, Emma wasn't sure she could make another hat. He'd walked her through the process, and even then, the hat had hardly held together. And even if she could make one, there was no reason to believe it would work. So much for that idea.

"Secondly, you can use a magic bean. But the giants have mostly died out, and so have their crop, making it woefully difficult to get your hands on one." Emma's brow furrowed at that. Magic beans, she had no experience with. Giants either, for that matter. Sounded like some sort of riff on Jack and the Beanstalk, but she certainly didn't recall the magic beans making portals. "And even if we could find a bean, it would likely be dead by now. They only work if they're fresh. Beyond that, even, we'd need to find a way to direct us to the right world. You can't just waltz into a portal and hope for the best. There would be no telling where you would end up."

Emma grimaced at all this information. She didn't much understand it, for starters, and the way he was talking? It didn't sound like they had a lot of hope in this situation.

"So do you have any good news at all? Or are you just planning on listing all the ways I _can't _use to go home?" Frustration had leaked into her tone, as she was finding herself doubting the usefulness of aligning with a pirate who didn't seem to have a damn clue on how to get her back to Storybrooke.

"You're so very _negative_, love. It's quite jarring, you know." He had apparently cooked a leg of the rabbit to his liking, and slid it off onto the plate with the fish. Emma answered him only in a dark look, and eventually he answered. "You are very lucky indeed, my dear, that I happen to know where to find at least one piece of the puzzle."

Well, that was something. "What piece, exactly? And how do we get it?" Emma pressed.

"A compass. It belonged to a man I knew once, and it points towards the thing you most desire. He was a narrow minded fellow, only believing in one world at a time. I know better, though. It will lead us through the portal to the land where we want to be." Emma didn't claim to know that much about magic, but this compass certainly sounded magical. And if indeed it would lead her to the thing she wanted most, it would bring her home to Henry. There was nothing she wanted more.

"Where is it?" She pressed, hoping the answer would be in a place somewhere achievable.

"Well, it's a long story. You see, I bartered it away a long time ago, and I've spent a lot of my time trying to find it again. I should have never let it go, but the bloke I got it from was a touch... unreliable." Emma eyed him at this. "At any rate, I have it on good authority that it is at the top of a certain beanstalk, and I have the means to climb it."

He gestured at a leather gauntlet on his wrist. She'd noticed them before, but had assumed it was some sort of fashion statement. He did seem quite fond of leather. She rose an eyebrow. She wasn't sure how a leather cuff was going to help them climb a beanstalk, but that was neither here nor there.

"The giant's beanstalk, you mean?" She clarified. He nodded, apparently a little surprised she knew of the correlation. "Well, if they're all dead, it won't be so hard, will it?"

"Recall I said that they'd _mostly_ died out." Hook corrected, handing off another skewer of meat to her as he began to attack the cooked meat like he hadn't eaten in years. Or maybe that was just pirate table manners.

"So... we have to get through a giant to get the compass. I don't suppose they're friendly," Emma muttered, focusing on the fire instead of watching Hook chew his food.

"Not particularly. When I said died out, I ought to have said _killed off._" Emma grimmaced, and not just because Hook was talking with his mouth full. That was a pretty big detail to miss.

"This is the same kind of giant that grew the beans, right?" She wondered, tilting her head to watch the flickering of the flames.

"One and the same," Hook agreed, continuing to inhale meat with reckless abandon. At this rate, they'd have no leftover meat, but that might be just as well, seeing as they couldn't really refrigerate it.

"So... there's a chance he might have a bean, right?" Hook was quiet, apparently considering it.

"I don't know, love. There's a possibility." He wasn't lying when he told her that he didn't know, which reassured her somewhat. She was by no means an overly optimistic person, but if anyone was going to have a bean, it was going to be the guy who had once grown them. How they could reason with him to hand it over was a better question.

Despite herself, having some sort of plan in place made her feel a little less hopeless. Yes, even if fighting a _giant_ of all things was on the agenda, at least it was a positive step towards getting home. She reckoned that was a whole lot better than nothing. Her green eyes were sharp with determination when they fell back towards the pirate.

"So when do we start?"


	5. Chapter 5

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

It was good, that they had a clear, defined plan. However, _knowing _the plan and yet seeing how slowly it was put into motion? Well, that wasn't so easy. Apparently, the Enchanted Forest was quite the place. Hook's 'casual estimate' put them at the beanstalk in no less than two days, no more than five. Emma was pretty confident they could cut it to 30 hours if they walked through the night, but Hook had laughed at that. Which had hardly done wonders for her mood. He would be surprised how far she could push herself to get what she wanted. After their breakfast, they packed up, and set to walking.

He had given her the food to carry, and he took the bag with all the items he'd liberated from the farm. Her feet were protesting the trek, but even knowing about the sores and cuts on her feet, she ignored the pain. Sitting around waiting for a couple open sores on her feet to close up was simply not an option. Sore feet would not kill her. She even refused to fall behind the lanky pirate, though that was hardly hard. He sauntered about the forest as if he was not in a particular rush, and it drove her a little crazy.

"Can't we go a little faster?" She pressed, wishing she could set the pace. Unfortunately, she hadn't the slightest idea where they were headed, and was relying on Jones to navigate. It was hard to rely on someone else, especially someone who didn't seem particularly capable. However, options were pretty slim around here, and she was making do with what she'd been given.

"Oh, most assuredly." Hook answered, without picking up his pace in the slightest. It felt like he was going even slower, just to spite her. She passed him and turned around, giving him an expectant look. "Just because we _can, _doesn't mean we will. You seem to be concerned that the beanstalk will escape us, but I assure you, it's perfectly stationary."

Emma gritted her teeth, tempted to grab him by the arm and drag him. "I'm not worried about _losing_ a plant. I just was hoping we could get there sometime this century."

Hook waved his namesake as if he were some sort of preacher at a lectern. "Time is incredibly relative, love. After your first two or three, a century isn't so terribly long."

Emma was silent for a long moment. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

"You're more than a century old?" She clarified, disbelief lacing her tone. She knew that Neverland was the place where little boys never had to grow up, but the idea of someone being that old was just really hard for her to grasp. Her world, men rarely hit ninety.

"I suppose it's two or three. But like I said, _relative. _It's been long enough that it's hard to remember how long it's been." Emma's features were coated with marked suspicion, but her 'superpower' wasn't ringing any warning bells. Either he wasn't lying, or he believed he was telling the truth. Her superpower was kind of unhelpful that way, that it couldn't tell the difference.

"You look pretty good for such an old fart," Emma snarked, feeling that Hook should not be the only one who got to throw in potshots with little provocation.

"Well, I have always been very young at heart," Hook informed her, not looking even slightly put out that she'd called him old. He even jogged to fall into step beside her. "I'd be more than happy to show you..."

"Keep it in your chest," She suggested, but she didn't put more distance between them. He was far enough away that they weren't bumping into each other, but close enough to make conversation easier. And if they had that far to walk, she was pretty sure some sort of conversation would be appreciated. As long as he'd stop trying to get cute with her, but she knew that it was more likely for a carriage piloted by flying pigs to swoop down to deliver her back to Storybrooke than Hook would drop the act.

"Don't be so literal," Came a purr almost directly in her ear, and it surprised her so badly she jumped. She told herself that he'd just startled her, that explained the goose bumps darting across the skin his warm breath had touched. She shoved him to a more proper distance, and shot him a deadly look.

"Keep it in your pants," She corrected. Hook chuckled, a dark (and as much as she hated to admit it) and sexy one. But he didn't press further. They continue in a short stretch of silence before her curiosity gets the better of her.

"So why haven't you aged? Is it because of Neverland?" It seemed like a fair question to her, honestly. Even if it was the result of Neverland, why was it that he didn't age here? He talked like he had been in the Enchanted Forest at the beginning of the curse. Initially, she'd assumed he'd been just a kid when it happened, but now she wasn't so sure. She didn't want to believe that he was really centuries old, but a part of her was starting to think it was the only option that made sense.

"Aye, something like that," Hook's wary tone took her by surprise, and she glanced in his direction. He was watching her intensely again, in the way that made her feel uncomfortable and a little unsafe. Before she got a chance to ask him what she'd said, he helpfully pointed it out for her. "What do you know of Neverland? And how do you know I've been?"

Well, shit.

Emma had a terrible habit when it came to Fairytale characters. She'd spit out what history she knew of them upon barely knowing them, and it had a tendency of making them feel uncomfortable. She could recall her introduction to 'Cinderella', who she had told quite honestly that she found her story inspiring. Cinderella had always been her favorite, orphaned and forced to suffer through cruelty and derision and with a little bravery and the help of a fairy godmother, getting her happy ending. An orphan girl struggling through the system connected a lot to a story like that. She'd gotten a little too detailed when she elaborated why and the poor girl had thought she was a mind reader at first. She even startled Mary Margaret on occasion with information that she in theory shouldn't know. She _had _listened to Henry a little bit, and Disney and The Brothers Grimm had filled in a lot of the rest.

Even worse, she had absolutely _no_ convenient cover for this slip. Her mind was churning trying to think up an adequate lie, but it was pretty slow going and unfortunately, a liar was often skilled at spotting another liar.

"Do us both a favor and start with honesty. It'll be easier that way. It's so time consuming to have to call you on your deceit." Emma frowned at that. She could lie pretty well, usually, but he was acting like she was an open book. Kind of like she did with everyone else. It was bugging her that she had so far not caught Hook in a lie, yet, he seemed to be spotting hers from a mile away.

"It's kind of hard to explain," She tried uneasily. That wasn't untrue, certainly. Hook's cold evaluation was disquieting. The guy could be pretty intimidating when he wanted to be, not that she was going to let him think he had an advantage over her.

"Luckily for you, we have at least two days. Plenty of time for even the most complicated of tales." Well, true. He kind of had a point there, too. She felt incredibly uncomfortable talking to Hook about Earth, for some reason. She wasn't even sure why. Maybe because it was one of few things she knew and he didn't. It felt like some sort of power she had over him. The more she gave him, the less she had to hold over him. Perhaps it was just her knee-jerk reaction to not want to detail her life too clearly for anyone. Hell, not even Mary Margaret knew that much about her past, and Emma quite liked it that way. Even though he wasn't asking about her, she guarded her information zealously.

Nothing was going to happen if she told him about Earth. He already knew she was from there, didn't he? So it was hardly a surprise if she talked about it. He had a pretty valid question, really. If he had randomly named a place she happened to have visited, she would be a little unnerved. Especially if she was a being that traveled between worlds. It was kind of hard to list worlds if you didn't know that much about them, and she had made it pretty clear that she didn't.

"Back home, there's a book about you," She said bluntly. His face contorts slightly, taking in that information. Probably a jarring revelation. Even back when she didn't believe in the curse, the pages in Henry's book had made her uncomfortable. Those pages were ash now and just thinking of them still managed to make her feel disquieted.

"A book?" He repeats, running his good hand through his dark hair as the revelation sinks in. "About me?"

"Well... About Peter Pan, really. But you're in it too." Killian's eyebrows rise in a clear mark of confusion. His confusion only makes her equally confused. Is she really going to have to explain his history to him? "Uh... you know. The leader of the Lost Boys? Your nemesis? Besides the crocodile, I mean-"

His grip at her elbow is strong, sudden, and painful. Her breath hitches in surprise. She tries to wrench her arm away, but he's got a pretty strong hold for a guy with one hand. Well, maybe if you only have the one it's natural for it to be stronger.

"What do you know of the Crocodile?" His voice is liquid ice, and it sends sparks tracing through her veins. The man she's looking at now scares her, more than she wants to admit even to herself. She puts on a good show of not being intimidated.

"What's there to know? It's an animal, and it ate your hand after Peter cut it off." Again, his features distort in confusion. Apparently, the story she's heard of Captain Hook isn't terribly accurate. Or maybe he's too old to remember. No, that can't be. There is apparently a Crocodile, and he certainly doesn't seem to think highly of it. She's got the story wrong, there's no way around it. Hook quickly shifts from scary determination to uncertainty, and his grip loosens and his gaze drops, as if he's trying to put together a puzzle in his head and he doesn't have the energy to be Captain Hook while he's doing it.

He drops her arm without apology, and starts walking away. She blinks, rubbing her arm with a slight hint of annoyance creeping through her. After a pace, she follows after him. He's obviously still thinking about something, but she's going to hazard a guess that he's not going to easily volunteer what is bothering him.

She's not sure if she wants to know, if he's going to turn into the person she just saw again. But now that she's seen the darkness in him, she needs to know what it means. If he's trying to get to Storybrooke, she cannot and _will not _help him get there if he means to do harm to anyone there. She's the Sheriff, it's her job to protect them.

"I'm guessing I got the story wrong, then," She says carefully, not sure how to act around him at the moment. He's still not quite the man she's started to get used to.

He looks back at her and he looks close to human again. There are a lot of emotions festering under the surface of his gaze, so many she can't even begin to name them. "To say the least."

She considers her next move carefully before asking, "Well, what _is_ the story?"

He is silent for a moment, watching the path in front of them with steady and unwavering interest. She's starting to think he isn't going to answer at all when he finally does.

"What gives you any right to ask my story when you won't tell me yours?" Emma falls silent, thinking his question is both fair and completely unfair. She is a contrary person, clearly. She's not sure how her story applies to their situation. His, on the other hand, sends him into an icy barely controlled rage, just at the mention of a fucking crocodile. As much as she hates Neal, she doesn't turn into a different person when his name is mentioned. His past is apparently a landmine, waiting for her to trip right over it and suffer the consequences. No matter how much of her past he knows, she knows that he has no need to know of her past. There is nothing there even particularly relevant. He, on the other hand, is hiding something, and something big. Something that is starting to scare her.

She grabs him by his leather-clad forearm and plants her feet, forcing both of them to stop moving. His gaze is not frightening anymore, but it's incredibly guarded. Unreadable. The mask that had been so abruptly shattered not even seconds ago was back in place.

"You're the one who is pushing for trust. Don't you think I have a right to know why this Crocodile makes you so angry? Especially when you about turned that anger out on me just because I brought it up?" She sees the knuckles in his good hand whiten as his fist tightens, but otherwise he doesn't move. He'd be a hard man to beat at poker.

"The crocodile is an animal, but not literally. Metaphorically. He is a monster, and a killer, and he took the thing that mattered most to me." His gaze is piercing, but she doesn't look away. "I will get my revenge on him. It is the only reason I still breathe. If you intend to interfere, I suggest you get out of my way."

Emma wonders if he means his hand. He's got a whole lot of anger over just a hand, but hell, she still has both of hers. Maybe it's more than that, it's intentionally vague. What is he still trying to hide?

"Revenge how?" She presses. He wants to get to the world without magic, the place Regina's curse deposited everyone. _Someone _in Storybrooke is the Crocodile he's after, and she has to know what he intends before she keeps working alongside him. "Are you going to kill him?"

"He deserves no less," Hook hisses with vehemence. "He is a _monster_ of unprecedented proportions. And trust me when I say that people will _celebrate_ when his blood is on my hands." The man in front of her now, it's not the same one she'd been talking to before. He's not the playful, good looking, banter-prone pirate anymore. This person, he's cold and mechanical, and she wonders if this is the real him. If everything else was just a mask to hide the truth. This disgusting, cold and disturbed version of him is what remains of years of unspent revenge.

"Who are you to decide who lives and who dies?" She asks, voice dropping. "You're just a man, Hook. You have no right to pass judgment on this Crocodile or anyone else."

A long moment stretches, and Emma swears that Hook is about to hit her. The concentrated emotion in his gaze is so powerful it makes her feel weak. It reminds her of people she'd rather forget, who are buried far in her past and she would like it to stay that way. She feels like a little girl again, lost, unloved, and powerless, in the face of an anger that cannot be controlled. When he moves, she is unable to keep herself from flinching, anticipating a blow that never comes. He falls on her, heavily and suddenly, and it's so sudden she can't really do anything about it. Both of them fall, him on top of her, and it's not a particularly comfortable experience.

The wind is knocked out of her, to say the least, and she's trapped underneath a heavy leather-clad man. She wiggles as she tries to piece together what happened. She pushes at him heavily, but her eyes slide to his pained expression, and she slowly realizes that he hadn't done this on purpose to piss her off. She can feel something wet and sticky soaking into her white (well it was white at one point) tank. She shoves him up a little, just to try and examine what exactly happened.

His expression is dazed, and he's unnervingly silent. She reaches between them, in a gesture that could have easily been sexual in a different situation, and her fingers brush the arrow that's impaled through his stomach. She gives a small cry of surprise and fear. She does not know what to do with something like this.

"Killian," She whispers, adopting his name instead of his moniker because if any situation calls for it, it's being shot through with an arrow. His gaze drops on her for a moment, and it's like he doesn't even remember who she is.

"Poison," he says simply, and he looks like he means to repeat himself, but instead his eyes roll back into his head quite dramatically and he's out like a light. She gives another startled sound, a mixture of a cry and a gasp. Things have been radically declining and as she gingerly shoves him off, though she can't do it that gently. Luckily he's too unconscious to really notice it.

Everyone has a fight or flight reflex in them, and as a girl who had to raise herself basically, her flight response is unusually strong. It is not that she will not fight when she needs to. Emma Swan is a fighter, and she will fight tooth and nail when backed into a corner. But she doesn't start fights, that's dirty and sloppy. She will fight when she has to, not because she wants to. And him unconscious on the floor, with a wound she doesn't even have an idea of how to fix up, and someone in these woods around her that shot the arrow into him when he was too distracted to defend himself? Well, that flight reflex is kicking in so strongly it's making her feel a little ill since she's not moving fast enough.

Her legs are shaking by the time she struggles to her feet, and she takes two steps away from him with a determined purpose, but by the third she falters. She turns, and unsurprisingly, Hook has not moved. Guilt drags at her like irons on her ankles. She kind of wants to leave him... But she can't. What little good is left in her won't allow it, not when he helped her and when he needs someone. She stumbles to the ground and hooks her arms under his armpits, preparing to drag him with her, when a voice stops her.

"That's enough. Let go of him and stand up." She curses herself for thinking frazzled. Obviously she should have looked for the guy with bow and arrow. Her eyes dart up to see the man in front of her. He's covered in rags and furs. He has a crazed, desperate look in his eyes, and he's holding the bow still, but he doesn't have it leveled at her. Which means he doesn't consider her as much of a threat. She swallows, noting at least one knife on him. That could certainly be an obstacle if she isn't careful.

She releases Hook and rises slowly, but she doesn't put her hands up. He didn't ask her to, after all, and she has better access to her gun and the knife Hook gave her if her hands are down.

"Throw the blade on the floor," The vagrant says. Kind of expected, really, but it surprises her he says nothing about the gun. Until, of course, she realizes that he doesn't know what her gun is. This world doesn't seem to be full of modern technology, after all. He probably doesn't realize it's even more dangerous than the blade.

She unhooks the knife from her belt loop and throws it on the ground, closer to her than him, and he'd have to move forward to grab it. He doesn't move.

"Put your hands together in front of you. Wrists together." Okay, she does not like the way this is going. She follows the directions for now, though she has no intention of actually letting him tie her up. She will fight that without a second thought. "Now, on your knees."

Emma swallows, ignoring the implications of such a statement. Because just because there is a certain expected meaning of that phrase back home, doesn't mean that's what he intends now. Besides, even if that was what he intended, she's more likely to bite his dick off. She doesn't like the idea of going down on her knees, it gives her less mobility for fighting back. The man levels his bow at her, however, noting her reluctance, and she slowly slinks to the ground and onto her knees.

"What are you doing?" She asks, a stalling attempt. Not always is asking questions helpful in situations like this, but she hopes she can distract him or confuse him enough to take the advantage. "You got what you wanted. Just take him, and I'll go."

"It wasn't him I wanted," the man states levelly, the lack of emotion or interest in his tone truly disturbing. He stares at her heavily and it makes her skin crawl. "The witch wants you, and I mean to take you to her."

"The witch?" Emma repeats, truly baffled. Who is the witch? She's certain she's not met her, considering the pirate bleeding out on the ground is the only one she's met so far in this world. "Look, you've got the wrong person. I don't know what you're talking about."

For a moment, the man looks skeptical. He considers this silently, before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a loop of thin but roughly spun rope.

"We'll let the witch decide that," He mutters, finally moving towards her. Before he can loop the rope around her wrists, she punches him hard and fast, and in a place he probably would rather not be hit. The gasp of pain brings him to his knees as well, but his dirty hands reach out for her before she can get out of the way. He grabs her and lands on top of her. He is heavy but not as heavy as he should be, considering his height. He tries to pin her arms at her sides but she uses her knee to reintroduce him to the pain she'd already tried once. He grapples with her arms still, but the pain is too much for him to focus on much else.

His grubby nails dig into her jacket, hard enough to break skin if the leather wasn't in the way. She twists her hips, leaving her straddling him. She presses her forearm against his neck and he starts to struggle. She won't kill him – a part of her considers it, but despite everything, she still has a shadow of morality that refuses her that easy way out. His arms flail out towards her face. He scratches her, tries to punch her in the eye, anything and everything, but she's already started to get him.

He's weak, not as strong as he ought to be. He probably hasn't eaten well in a very long time. She notes the gauntness in his face and in his frame. She sees the consciousness seep away from him slowly. Once he's passed out, she removes her arm. She won't kill him, despite the fact he shot her companion straight through the side and he meant to take her captive.

She does make use of his own rope to tie his hands together. When he wakes up, he will hopefully not feel up to coming after her again, but just in case she means to make it difficult for him. She also removes him of at least three blades, and that pretty bow and arrow. However, she can't focus too long on him, because she notes that the pirate is trying to sit up.

"Stop it," She chastises, pushing him back down. This probably doesn't help, pain wise, and he hisses loudly at the action.

"What if I won't? Will you climb on top of me and make me, like you did our friend over there?" Hook wonders, and Emma truly doesn't understand his desire to hit on her when he's got an arrow sticking out of him. She gives an unbelieving huff, but sets about looking at the damage.

Luckily, the arrow is not straight through the middle, possibly damaging organs. It's lower than ribcage, and as far as she can gather, piercing mostly skin. She moves to snap off the head so they can pull it out and Hook grabs her hand with surprising dexterity.

"No. We have to get away from the bloke who tried to kill me. Then you can try your hand at nursing," He said, tone surprisingly even for a guy with an arrow through his midsection.

"Are you even sure you can walk?" She wonders, eying the arrow with a certain amount of disbelief.

"Love, with your help, I can do anything." Emma wants to snap at him for the nauseating line, but it just doesn't seem like the right time. Hook starts to sit up, and she settles an arm around his shoulders to help him up. He doesn't protest. She threads his arm around her shoulders as she helps him to his feet – more accurately, drags him. She is painfully aware of how much weight he's not carrying. The extra effort ripples through her leg muscles.

"Where are we going?" She grunts, moving her arm around his waist to get the steadiest grip on him. Unfortunately for him, she's just not strong enough to carry him on her back like he did for her earlier.

"I reckon anywhere would be better than here," He states, an indistinct ripple of pain sneaking through his tone. Emma had to guess that if he had the capacity to walk, it wouldn't be very far. So they had to take advantage of it while it lasted. Pulling him into step wasn't easy, she was pretty sure he was going to just collapse on her, but he staggered into a slow walk and that was just going to have to be good enough. He didn't comment on the direction she'd chosen or the pace she set. She was glad he wasn't super talkative with an injury because the extra effort she was putting out to carry him was swallowing any extra energy to devote to talking. She scoops up their bags, because she's quite sure they'll need them later, even though the extra weight only makes this task seem even more impossible.

Their footsteps drag for at least thirty minutes before she starts to become aware that Hook is running out of energy. He stumbles heavily, enough that they almost fall down. She wants to keep dragging him along, as long as he can stand they can get farther. And hopefully to someplace safer.

"Swan, stop." He rasps, and she falters. She slows after a bit of hesitation. If he wants to stop, he _was _the one shot. Seemed like a fair call. She drops the bags and attempts to unwind herself from him enough to get a good look at him. He's breathing heavily and his skin is burning hot, even though his cheeks are gray and ashy instead of rosy.

"What is it?" She asks, reaching up to check his temperature. Burning up, unsurprisingly. She reaches between them to open his jacket and look at the wound. Luckily it hasn't gotten bigger from their jaunt, not that she can tell, but there's more blood.

"The poison." He seems unsteady, all of a sudden, and she re-adjusts so his arm is over her shoulders so she can keep him up.

"Forget it," She tries, not wanting him to push himself talking about something he's not sure about.

"No. It's there. It'll..." He hisses as she shifts him, trying to start moving again. The sound is harsh enough that she stops. "It will make me hallucinate. I'll be fine here. You should go now."

Her mind reels at the idea. If she had been considering it before, after he'd gone all psychotic talking about water dwelling reptiles, she hadn't now. He was shot clean through, for gods sake. She was all for self preservation but she couldn't justify leaving him now that he was injured. She didn't want anyone's death on her conscience, even if they were crazy revenge seeking pirates.

"I'm not going to leave you," She says flatly, but firmly. He eyes her like he doesn't understand her, literally can't comprehend why she'd answer that way. He claims she has no trust in people but it's clear by the look in his eyes that he doesn't either. She understands this part of him, and just like he wondered why she was scared of trusting others, she wonders what broke him. She's not sure she'll ever know. "You hear me, Jones? I'm not going anywhere."

He turns away, and his eyes shutter closed. He's given up, resigned himself to the idea that she is going to leave him. It stings, that even after explicitly telling him she's not leaving, he doesn't believe her. If the situation was turned, would she believe him? Probably not. Her grip on his good hand tightens, fingers intertwining with is in an attempt to convince him.

In the end, it doesn't matter if he believes her or not. She's staying.


	6. Chapter 6

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Despite her attempts to convince him, it seemed quite useless. He didn't say anything, but she could read it on his face. She knew what he was doing, resigning himself to the fact that she would leave him behind. She knew it because she had been the living interpretation of that look when she was younger. She had felt that way more times than she could count. A part of her was a little hurt that he didn't believe her, but if situations were reversed, she wouldn't trust him to stay, either.

It stung a little, but she would prove him wrong. She wasn't going anywhere. He didn't believe her, but she was confident. She was going to see the pirate back towards the realm of health, and only then would she leave him. She wasn't sure she wanted to partner up with him after she'd seen under his facade, but no matter how she felt about his quest for revenge, she wasn't going to leave him to bleed out in the forest.

She glanced around, spotting a rock overhang not too far from them. "Come on," She insisted, pulling him into step again. They could at least seek a little shelter there. It wasn't perfectly hidden and it was no doubt going to be lacking in comforts, but right now they needed someplace they could be safe while she fixed him up. She had to get that arrow out of him, first and foremost. She wasn't sure she believed him about this poison, but she would deal with hallucinations when they got to them.

His footsteps were slow, like he would rather just pass out where they were, but she dragged him forward anyway. Her body ached with the effort, she was taking at least 70% of his weight now and it was not easy. He couldn't keep his footsteps in line, either, and each stumble they got closer to collapsing. The short remaining feet to their destination seemed longer and harder than the trek they'd already made. They had just barely reached the overhang when he collapsed to the floor, effectively canceling out the idea of going further. She just barely managed to lessen his fall. He didn't give her much of a warning, after all.

He laid on his side, to keep from aggravating the arrow. She dropped to her knees, trying to check if he was still conscious. If he was, he didn't open his eyes when she brushed her hand against his forehead again. "I'll be back." She promised him, but he either didn't hear or didn't have the desire to answer.

Without a six foot pirate glued to her side, it was easier to make her way back to their bags. She knew they hadn't gotten far from their attacker. If he was determined, he could come after them, and it wouldn't be too hard to find them, either. As much as she wanted to worry about that, she told herself she'd have to worry about it later. Jones' injury was a far more pressing matter. If the man came after them again, she could take care of him. She had removed a majority of his weapons, at least. Hopefully that would deter him from trying again.

Collecting the bags and turning back in the way she had come, she found the pirate where she had left him. He hadn't even tried to move. She wasn't sure if he was conscious, but she wasn't going to test him at the moment. She pulled her knife from its holster and after a moment of hesitation started filing down the arrow to remove the tip. It would be easier to pull out again if they cut it off. She watched his face, but he didn't respond to what had to be pretty painful. He must be out.

The process seemed to take far too long, but eventually she was able to snap off the head. She wished desperately for something to sanitize it, but she reasoned that it had already run through him, whatever was on it had already been where it shouldn't be. She moved behind him, bracing a knee on his back.

"This is going to hurt," She told him, feeling she ought to, even if he was out. She meant to pull it out quickly, but she didn't have much luck in that. She'd never pulled something out of someone like this before, the biggest protrusion she'd removed was a splinter. It was slow and excruciating. By the time it was out, she got a clear indication the pirate was awake because of a grunt of pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," She told him, and she meant it. That couldn't have been comfortable, and though he hadn't made much of a noise, something told her that he was just trying to hide how much it hurt. It was a man thing, she was pretty sure she would have had some choice words if someone had pulled an arrow out of her.

She should have expected the fact that blood suddenly started rushing out. She was vaguely aware that when someone was impaled it was supposed to stay in until they got to the ER because it was like a stopper for the bleeding. So now that it was free to go wherever it pleased, it was proceeding to do so.

"Shit," She said, not keeping her thoughts to herself. She fumbled through the bag with bloody fingers to find the cloths he'd liberated from the farm. She pressed one bundle to his back, positioning it under him before rolling him onto his back.

He certainly seemed unconscious now. She fumbled at the closed buttons of his coat with sticky fingers, managing to get it open with some amount of difficulty. The shirt underneath would have been easier but she didn't even try, grabbing handfuls at the collar and ripping it open. He was definitely out, she decided, or he wouldn't have resisted making a joke about her ripping his clothes off. She fumbled with his hook, unsure how it attached, and somewhat unnerved with dealing with it, but she figured it out and removed it. It was surprisingly high-tech, he'd had some sort of metal plate grafted into his skin that it attached to. She wondered who had done that for him. She threw the hook onto the pile, and then maneuvered him out of the leather jacket.

One of the sides fell particularly heavy and she investigated the pocket. She found a rather large flask, and opened it to smell what it contained. She made a face at the stiff, spiced alcohol smell. Now if she knew her liquor (and she did), that was rum. She wondered if Captain Jack had introduced him to it. He certainly had a lot of Jack mannerisms. It would sting, but it could be an antiseptic, she reasoned. Probably a better choice than her hand sanitizer. She was pretty sure that wasn't supposed to go directly on a wound.

Now that his shirt was off and she could actually see his wound, it was surprisingly small considering the circumference of the arrow that went through. Thankfully, it was too far to his side to hit any vital organs, at least, not if her limited knowledge of anatomy was correct. It was just below his ribs. The skin was a little bruised but overall, the wound wasn't as intimidating as it could be. It bled pretty indiscriminately, but she hoped that she could stop it with some pressure, wrap him up, and he'd be right as rain in a couple days.

Now that was overwhelmingly optimistic but sometimes when times were especially grim, even Emma Swan sought the comfort of the thought of a positive outcome.

Emma opened the bottle of rum, and took a quick swig for courage. Then she poured some on the wound, and rolled him slightly to get the other side. Then, after resettling the cloth under him to stop the blood from the back, she laid him back down and held the cloth down, firmly. The first couple of cloths got too soaked with blood to be helpful, but after she switched to new ones the blood flow seemed to slow. However, it took a long while to actually stop completely, which worried her. She focused on nothing but holding the appropriate amount of pressure, hoping that he was out enough that he couldn't feel any pain.

When the blood dwindled enough that she thought she could bandage him, she splashed him with a little more rum and gingerly cleaned the skin around the wound with a little water from her own flask that he'd found at the farm. She folded two clean cloths into neat little squares to serve as her gauze, wishing she could know for sure they were sanitary, but there was really no way. She was no nurse and this certainly wasn't a sanitary hospital room, either. It was difficult to wrap him up when he was laying down, after a couple layers she had to pull him back into a sitting position, holding his back against her chest as she wound the strips of cloth around him, and tightly.

When she was done, she laid his coat out to lay him on, trying to keep the wound off the bare ground. She pulled off her own coat and settled it under his head in attempts to make him comfortable, though it was probably not helping much. Using the damp cloth from cleaning around his wound, she gingerly washed the rest of him. It was a little awkward but he was burning up, and hopefully air hitting his damp skin would cool him down. Unfortunately for her, she noticed without even trying that he had a pretty nice body for a guy of 300. So not a necessary thought right now.

He didn't wake up. Maybe that was a good thing, she reasoned. Maybe the hallucinations he was talking about were all going to be in his head. She collected the bloody cloths and the empty canteen, and wearily stumbled from their overhang. She had heard the distinct sound of water while she'd been working on the pirate, it had to be somewhere. She could clean these, fill up on more water, and head back.

The water was blessedly close, so close she wasn't sure how she hadn't noticed it on the way in. There was a small stream, but apparently it had wore through solid rock. She wasn't sure she wanted to crawl into the hole through the rock, but she could see light straight through to the other side. It would be a claustrophobic nightmare, though, no more room than a foot worn through the rock above the water, and who knew how deep it stream was the further you got in. It made her feel uncomfortable just thinking about it. No, she would not be crawling in there if she could help it.

She washed the dirty cloth in the stream, and after that stripped off her own clothes and washed them, too. They were pretty filthy. After that, she even hobbled into the two feet deep water to wash herself. The day was warmer than the last couple, and by the time she dragged herself out of the stream everything she'd washed had gone from wet to tolerably damp. Her jeans were a lost cause, though. Those wouldn't dry for awhile. It was hard to get them on that wet, in fact, but she managed. If she was certain they wouldn't be disturbed, she might not have cared to even wear them. It's not like Hook could assault her right now. But a part of her still worried about that man they'd abandoned behind them. So soggy jeans it was.

Moving back to where she'd left him, he was still asleep, but his expression had morphed from pained to surprisingly soft. He looked younger when he was asleep. She felt a little strange staring at him like a creep, so she shook those thoughts out of her head. She laid the clean damp cloth on his skin to try and attempt to bring his temperature down. Her Tylenol might help, but he couldn't exactly swallow it right now. Until he woke up, she had no options but to try and keep his fever away the old fashioned way.

She decided that she'd stay awake, that she would watch him until he woke up. It was a great plan, well intentioned and probably a smart move. However, she underestimated how much energy she had spent carrying Jones all this way and then fixing him up. Even though initially her thoughts were whirling about how limited her attempts to clean up his wound had been and all the unlimited ways things could go from bad to worse, her thoughts eventually slowed as exhaustion caught up with her. She doesn't remember laying down, but she must have. Because when she feels fingers twirling a lock of her hair, she's laying on her side, using a bare shoulder as a pillow.

At first she's so surprised that she had fallen asleep that she doesn't know how to respond or what to do with herself. Her green eyes move to Killian, who seems wide awake as he twirls a lock of hair in his fingers, absolutely transfixed by it.

"Hey," She says, feeling a little uneasy about the way he's obsessed with a lock of her hair, but she reasons it might be the fever talking. His dark blue eyes move to her, and the expression in them... Well, it's absurd. And a little upsetting. He looks at her with such unabashed, overwhelming affection (affection isn't a strong enough word, love is closer but she won't even let herself think it), she feels a little ill. Okay, so that's not normal. There's definitely something not right with that look. Not even Neal at their best had ever looked at her like that. His expression is even softer than it was when he was passed out, asleep. "How are you feeling?" She whispers, caught so off guard she's not sure what to do with herself. She wants to pull away, should pull away, but she doesn't. It wouldn't be easy, anyway, because she slowly notes that his handless arm is around her, holding her close to him.

"Much better, love," He returns, his voice like velvet. It runs across her like a cashmere sweater, soft and warm and inviting and fuck it's sexy. She hates when he uses pet names on her, so why does it affect her so much when he says it now?

"I was worried about you," She tells him, surprising herself with her honest. She's treading dangerous water here, but it's the truth and she wants him to know it.

"You always are," He returns silkily, and it sets of warning bells immediately. Because... well, that is not particularly true. If anything, she's worried about him, not for him. Before she can question him on that he moves to press a kiss to her hairline. Her head is panicking, and she should shove him off and remind him no sort of injury gets him a free pass, but she doesn't. His lips are warm on her skin and sends tingles across her nerves all the way to the tips of her toes. He kisses her temple next, then lower, tracing a slow and maddening trail down her face. She needs to stop this, she knows she does. His lips just barely brush the corner of her mouth and she wants to scream. At him or herself, she's not sure, but both are fair game. He's hurt and she doesn't trust him and this is so not a good idea and this is probably some sort of fever dream and-

He kisses her and her mind forgets it is supposed to be making smart, coherent decisions. She can't even think as he kisses her, mind completely blank of anything but him. It's a soft, undemanding and unassuming kiss. She hasn't been kissed since Graham and apparently, her body misses it desperately. She exhales, letting him kiss her, trying to bastion some sort of resistance but it crumbles quickly when he pulls away and she inches forward again to initiate another kiss. Deeper this time, though not much harder. He tastes a little bit of cinnamon and rum, and she's quite sure it's the best thing she's ever tasted. His good hand abandons her hair, brushes down her cheek and neck to pause just above her breast.

He pulls away, leaving her gasping for air, like a fish suddenly dragged from the water and left to flop about helplessly on dry land. His warm, calloused fingers spread over her chest. Not grabbing her breast or anything sexual, weirdly enough. It's like he's enjoying the sensation of feeling her heartbeat. And it probably isn't easy to miss, considering how heavily it's hammering. She looks down at his hand, confusion creeping through the haze of a good kiss. What the...?

When her eyes return to his face, it has that icy, dark quality that she saw before when he spoke of the 'Crocodile'. She knows it isn't directed at her but for a moment, she's terrified.

"I will kill him for what he did to you. I swear it," He says, clear and distinct, and at this she knows suddenly and painfully that he was kissing a woman in his head, and using her as a prop to do it. Her heart aches despite herself, because she really should have known better. She tries to pull away from him, and not easily, because the grip he has on her is suddenly incredibly tight. She struggles, and rightly so, because she does not let any man touch her when she doesn't want them to, not anymore. "Please, no. Don't leave yet. Please, Milah. Don't leave me. Stay with me a little longer." The sheer desperation in his voice is heartbreaking, and suddenly Emma feels like crying. She doesn't want to take the woman he loves away from him, even though everything about this is unfair.

She allows him to pull her back into his arms, and hates herself for being so weak.

"Go back to sleep, Killian," She whispers, a little desperate now. She can't handle this, she can't. She doesn't want to be in love with a pirate and she knows it. She has a feeling if he remembers this he'll be incredibly mad at her, and she knows that she won't blame him. It's like she's stealing this from him, love that isn't meant for her. But she's not sure anyone has loved her this much and whoever this Milah is, she finds herself unbearably hateful towards her, that she had something that Emma finds she wants desperately.

Emma lays her head on his chest, facing away from him. She's scared he might try to kiss her again if she doesn't. She can feel his own heartbeat under her ear but it does nothing to comfort her. The wait for him to fall back asleep is excruciating. She feels his fingers thread through her hair again, and idle kisses into her hair. She waits until his movements stop and his grip slackens, and the second it does she rips away from him.

She has to get a little distance from him, there is no choice. She feels the traitorous burn of tears in her eyes but she ignores them. She's not going to cry. It's not like she wanted Captain fucking Hook to love her, anyway. She was mostly asleep when he kissed her and had been overwhelmed. If she were awake and coherent, she never would have let him kiss her. It was a stupid mistake and it meant nothing. If anything, she was sad that she didn't have someone like that. Not because she wanted him to feel that way for her and felt betrayed when it turned out he was imagining someone else in her place.

She thinks of Graham, and how he might have loved her like that if she hadn't gotten him killed. This is an acceptable thing to be sad over, and she allows herself to cry for Graham. She will not cry because she's jealous of Captain Hook's ex lover. It should have felt a little false but there's nothing insincere about her missing Graham. She thinks of how Regina knowingly took him from her, and hates herself a little bit for pushing her out of the reach of that portal. Wouldn't it have been fair to let her suffer? She'd killed Graham (one of many damning crimes), who she thinks now she must have loved, considering kissing him broke the curse.

But then she knows that she just can't work that way. No matter how heavily she's been wronged, Emma Swan doesn't do revenge. It is apparently what separates her from Killian Jones. No matter how heartbroken she is, she can't kill Regina for taking Graham away from her. She certainly will never forgive her, and might never drop her grudge against her, but she won't kill her.

She reassures herself with the possibility of arresting her for the crime when she gets back to Storybrooke. She knows how ridiculous the idea is, there's not exactly proof that Regina squeezed his heart into dust. But it reassures her enough that she can stop her tears. She reassures herself that at least Hook was too asleep to see them. They're a weakness and she's ashamed that she cried, especially over something he instigated.

It's almost unbearable to go back to him, but she makes herself. After all, it would only be hard to go back if he hurt her and he didn't and that's that. She checks his bandages and no blood has seeped through, which is reassuring. The damp newly washed linens she'd set on him to keep his fever down are splayed all around, so she collects them again and folds them now that they're dry. She wonders how long it has been since she brought him here, and how long she needs to worry about these hallucinations. She hadn't worried about them in the slightest but now she thinks that was a naïve decision. They're clearly quite powerful.

She can only hope that they will stop before he gets to the person that inspires the disturbing hatred in him. She certainly doesn't want to be his Milah but she's not sure she'll survive if she turns into his Crocodile.


	7. Chapter 7

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

She hasn't smoked in years. She knows how bad it is for her. But right about now, she wishes she could have just one cigarette.

Emma used to love smoking. She would smoke when she was bored, she would smoke when she was stressed, she would smoke when she was tired. She especially loved sharing a good cigarette after sex, back in the day. Maybe that is why she still associates Neal with cigarettes. (She wonders if, wherever he is now, he's still smoking.) She knows that they are a crutch, and she's okay with that. If someone offered her a cigarette right about now, she's afraid of the ghastly things she would do to get it.

It doesn't seem likely that anyone will offer her one in this place, though. Maybe a long time ago, they had tobacco plants and farms here. Possibly, it seems very anti-fairy tale. But if they did, it would be in disrepair now. And even if it wasn't, she didn't like pipes or cigars. No, she was pretty thoroughly fucked on the cigarette department, which really shouldn't be a big deal, because she'd stopped smoking since her days in the slammer. Her pesky, pesky mind nagged at her that she was desiring something she didn't even want so she would stop thinking about how much she wanted something else, but she ignored it. Not even going there.

Her patient was still unconscious. She wasn't sure if that was an improvement or not. He couldn't confuse her for an ex lover when he was knocked out, but then again, being comatose was rarely an indication of good health. She checked on him occasionally, giving him sponge baths in attempts to bring his fever down, but it seemed a little useless. He slept on, hopefully not cooking the brain in that hopeless head of his.

Keeping herself entertained while he was out was really the hardest part. She had a need to feel useful, and cooling her heels waiting on him to wake up did not make her feel useful. The hours seemed to drag on and on. If she was at all tired, she might have tried to doze along with him just to hit the fast forward button, essentially. However, she was shit out of luck on that front, not even remotely tired. More wired and jittery than anything else.

At first, she spent her time locating more food. The berries they had left would run out eventually. Unfortunately, her search wasn't as productive as her first or even second attempt. She found some wild rice by the small river, which was a carbohydrate and something. Other than that, all she could locate was a tree with tough little unripe fruit, she would guess lemon but it was hard to tell, since it was green.

Abandoning scavenging after awhile of frustration, she attempted to get a feel of the bow and arrow she'd taken from the creep who had tried to abduct her. It wasn't easy, at all. She didn't have a lot of experience with bows. Mostly from a few gym classes. Even then, she'd gotten a couple periods to try it, and the bows had been modern and practically foolproof. Quite unlike this thing she was trying to wield.

It was homemade and she was quite sure it was made badly. Nothing she fired from it seemed to fly straight. Overcompensating for the bow seemed like 90% of the challenge, though it was certainly a workout to hold the bow at tension. Half the time, she lost the bow and it fell off the notch. The other times, it flew nowhere near where intended. Either short or to the left. Always to the left, and she had no clue why.

It was frustrating, certainly. But it was also time consuming. Her arms were aching by the time she was able to hit a tree she was aiming at. It felt like quite the accomplishment. She told herself that Graham would have been proud, as long as he hadn't been watching for the hours of failure beforehand.

She brought the bow back into the small shelter she'd left Hook in. It was a little cover from the elements, could be better, but she wasn't sure how smart it would be to try and move him until he was awake enough to assist. At least this way he was out of the sun. Rain and wind could certainly reach him under the slight alcove but so far, they'd had none of either.

Crouching next to him, she felt a twinge of worry. How long had he been unconscious? It was really hard to tell without a watch, but it looked like night would fall soon. He'd been shot... late morning? Maybe? So certainly, he'd been out a handful of hours. She dipped her fingers past his collar and pressed them to his neck, but all she could ascertain from it was that he still had a heartbeat. She had no idea if it was too fast or too slow.

She was terrified that she'd failed him. Things didn't look any better, even if he wasn't bleeding and the wounds didn't seem infected. She was certain that one of these times when she tried his pulse, it wouldn't be there. And then, of course, that meant not only that she'd managed to kill someone with her lack of ability, she'd also managed to waste precious time she should have spent trying to find a way out of here. Her nerves were really doing a number on her, but there wasn't much she could do for it. Either he'd wake up, or he wouldn't. But she had to stay long enough to know which it was, even if it ended up being a waste.

He did look remarkably at ease sleeping, however. She had noticed it the first time, and he still looked like he was just napping for the hell of it. As long as she didn't look at his entire torso wrapped in bandages, anyway. In a fit of boredom she'd taken his shirt and washed it in the stream, so he was laying on top of his coat completely bare from the waist up. It made it easier to check his wounds this way.

Emma hesitantly ran her fingers through his dark hair. It would be just her luck for him to wake her up and suggest she stroke somewhere else. She would have preferred it, actually, but in the end he just remained unconscious.

"Come on, Jones. You have to wake up." She was pretty positive that he couldn't hear her, but she had to give it a shot. Maybe subconsciously he could hear, and his damn body would provide an internal alarm, or something.

She gave up after about five minutes of watching him. No notable changes, and she was just making herself feel worse staring at him and waiting for him to wake. A watched pot never boiled, and apparently, a watched pirate never woke.

She made her way out again, finding it rather unbearable to stay near him when there was no perceivable change. She should scavenge again, she decided. After all, they were still short on food, and maybe she could get practice in with her bow.

Skulking about the forest trying to be stealthy was harder than it sounded. She had never thought about it before, but it seemed like everything she did was insanely loud. From the crunch of leaves and branches and undergrowth under her feet, to the sound of her breathing and limbs rubbing together as she moved. But after an hour of searching, she was starting to see why that guy had been so skinny. The area seemed to grow grass and not much else. She wished Ruby was here, seeing as that girl knew how to track any sort of prey, but Emma couldn't even spot signs that animals had even been around, much less saw one.

The only thing noteworthy she saw was some sort of abandoned town, or village. At least, it looked abandoned. A couple of the small huts (houses? Hard to tell what terminology to use here) were caved in. A part of her considered checking the place out for anything useful, but the amount of time she'd spent away from her charge weighed on her. She wanted to be there to help him once he got up. His attitude upon waking would probably make her regret this decision, but back in his direction she went all the same.

She was less careful coming back, but even still, she didn't find anything that looked edible. It was frustrating, and it made her worry. What were they going to eat if things were this barren? She'd thought they'd collected way too much last time they ate but now she wasn't so sure. She really didn't want to resort to eating grass, she wasn't even sure how nutritious that would be.

Suddenly, and quite startlingly, she heard a loud crow. Emma startled despite herself. Looking up into a nearby tree, she saw a giant, curmudgeonly looking crow. It stared at her imperiously, a surprising amount of attitude for a bird. She watched it for a moment, before shaking her head. Well, that was weird. She started to continue walking when it crowed again.

She looked back and it was lower on the branches. She found the way it was staring quite creepy, but it didn't seem openly hostile. Maybe she should have tried shooting it, but she didn't have the heart. Especially considering her first contact in the Enchanted Forest had been a fleet of useless songbirds. This one was larger and much less cute but it seemed wrong to try and shoot it down to eat it, anyway. Her mother might faint if she consumed one of her feathery friends.

This thought made her chuckle despite herself. "Hey there, grumpy. Are you one of my mother's friends?" The bird tilted his head at this, which Emma thought looked like thinking. "Wrong princess? Maybe you're Sleeping Beauty's friend. Or that girl from Enchanted? Kinda curmudgeonly looking for a feathered companion of a princess, aren't you?"

The bird cawed at this, so he seemed to agree. Emma softened slightly, looking at him. Well, maybe he wasn't so bad. She'd been pretty harsh on him. Just because he was big and black and ominous looking, didn't mean he was evil. Right?

"I wish I had food for you, bud, but I'm fresh out." She did feel a little bad about it. She wasn't sure when she turned into such a bird freak. Maybe because they seemed to be the politest residents of the Enchanted forest post-curse. But she had to admit she'd always liked throwing bread for ducks and pigeons, so maybe this wasn't a completely new personality trait.

The bird twisted it's head, slightly more than normal, which made her think of the girl from the exorcist. Okay, so... yeah, that was pretty creepy. Emma frowned, shook her head, and walked away. She heard the creature cawing after her, but she didn't stop again.

It took her less than twenty minutes to make it back to the small enclosure after meeting the bird. She sighed, feeling a heavy sense of uselessness. She hadn't managed to fix up Hook, she hadn't managed to find food, and she hadn't even managed to learn how to use this stupid bow. It had been an insanely long couple of hours and it felt like she'd accomplished nothing. Pulling the bow from her back wearily, she started towards the cave entrance to check on Hook.

Until, of course, she felt rope snare around her ankle. Unlike the net, the process wasn't instantaneous. It pulled sharply, and Emma fell heavily forward as her ankle was snagged back. She fumbled with the knife at her side, in hopes of cutting the rope before it could drag her, but she had barely gotten a grip on the handle before the rope pulled her backwards. The force jostled the knife from her hand. She cursed a couple choice words that would make Mother Superior blush and her mother shake her head, but despite all her struggling and flailing, there was nothing she could do to stop her movement as she was dragged a couple feet backwards and then jolted into the air.

"Come on!" She snapped at the forest around her. This position was much less comfortable than the net. With only one ankle caught, she was pretty sure she could fall easily if the knot failed. Her blood was rushing to her head and her heartbeat was whirling in her ears. Who had laid a fucking trap for her? She glanced into the cave. Hook was unconscious last she had seen him, so god knows he wouldn't be much help, but at least some indication he was still around would have been some comfort. Maybe if she screamed loud enough, he would wake up?

A chill rushed over her when she saw their equipment and things, but not the pirate. There was some margin for error, considering it was starting to get dark, but she's certain. Not even his coat remained, though hers did. She couldn't imagine Hook setting this trap for her, but he certainly wasn't here to help her out of it, either. He'd done the one thing to her that she'd promised not to do to him.

She was not going to think about the fact she'd been abandoned right now. That was a thought process she could go over later, when she wasn't trapped. She tried to fold in half, catching hold of her caught leg, wincing at how much being suspended like this hurt her ankle. She had nearly caught hold of the rope when she heard a whistle just past her ear.

Startled, she dropped down again. Even upside down, it was easy to spot the man now. He was in a tree above her, and with another bow and arrow. She could see his wrists were cut and red, clearly from tearing through the rope she'd tied him with. If only they'd lasted longer. Damnit. Maybe she shouldn't have left him alive, but she really hadn't expected him to come after her.

"Stop moving," He stated, jumping down from the tree. She could see that he'd tied the rope off on a branch. He moved close to her, and she tried to reach for her gun. She could still shoot him, upside down or not. She seized her gun, pointing it and sliding off a shot before her attacker could even blink. Unfortunately for her, all she got for her effort was a loud, empty click.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. There was only one explanation for this, and it was fairly simple. When Hook stole her gun, he'd managed to take out the ammunition. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The guy after her had looked truly terrified when she turned the gun on him, but the terror had morphed to surprise and then relief when her big stand had proved pointless. He swung at her hand with his bow (a new one, because the one she had been carrying had fallen on the ground), and knocking her gun from her hand to the floor.

From there, he forced her hands together, and wound a tight piece of rope around them. Emma shrieked, fought, and tried to stop it with every bone in her body, but despite her desperate attempts, he still tied her wrists together.

"Why are you doing this? Damn it, I don't know who this witch is you're talking about. You've got the wrong girl," Emma insisted. The attacker didn't even react at this. The second he released her hands, she reared back and slammed them into his head. Even though they were tied together, they gave him a nice thump. It wasn't enough to knock him out, though. Of course it wasn't. The man wasn't pleased by her attempts to thwart him, and before Emma could blink he struck her across the face.

This was not the first time Emma Swan had been slapped. It probably wasn't even the hardest. It might not even be the last. She flinched, a normal reaction, but she didn't cry out. Rage apparent on her face, she told him point-blank, "You're going to fucking regret that." She wasn't sure how, yet. But he would.

"I'm taking you to the witch. Stop fighting. She didn't say she needed you to be whole. Just alive." Emma swallows at this, but she's not going to let him intimidate her.

"I fought you once, I'll fight you again. I won't stop. So just give it up already. Let me go and I'll forget this lapse in judgment. You can walk away and live your miserable life somewhere else," She suggested. The man looked like he was considering slapping her again.

"I'll just tie you up and drag you there," Her attacker spat, quite literally, as she could feel the drops on her face. She struggled fairly uselessly, tugging at her wrists desperately, but he was apparently quite good with knots. She heard him walk purposefully towards the tree again, probably to cut her down. If she could just get free, maybe she could outrun him, after all he was pretty emaciated-

And as suddenly as she was snagged by his trap, she hears a heavy thud. Not the normal weight of footsteps, but a thud-someone-falling-over thud. She startles, snapping her attention back towards her attacker. Except, now that he has a sword run through him, he's probably not going to be doing a lot more that she needs to worry about. Her breath catches, but she has a sinking feeling that she's gone from the pan to the flames. However, she knows that blade. She's seen that hilt at the hip of a certain pirate since she met him. She's not sure how he managed to run a man through and disappear so easily. That fucker can move fast when he wants to, sure, but with a day-old arrow wound?

"Hook!" She calls, unsure and still unfortunately disoriented. He isn't going to leave her here, is he? No matter what happened between them, he'd at least cut her down, wouldn't he? He isn't completely soulless. For a long moment, though, nothing happens. She doesn't see him, or hear him. Not even breathing, besides her own, which sounds loud and heavy in her ears. He has to be there, though, doesn't he? His sword couldn't just slide through people all on it's own. Unless it's a magic sword, and she doesn't even want to go into that thought process right now.

After a long minute of trying to spot him, she focuses on trying to free herself, frustrated that Hook hasn't appeared. What the fuck is he trying to pull? He'll kill the guy after her but then leave her (quite literally) hanging? She tugs desperately at her bindings, feeling that maybe they're a bit looser, when she suddenly knows he's watching her. She's not sure why she knows, but she can feel it. It's a little weird to look over and see him when she's hanging upside down, but there he is. He's put on his shirt and buttoned his coat and it looks like he'd never been worse for the wear. But the look on his face makes her blood pumping through her veins turn to ice water. It's dark and determined and unreadable, and more than a little terrifying. He certainly isn't seeing her as Milah now. And she can't tell for sure, but she's pretty sure he isn't seeing her as Emma, either.

"Hook, cut me down," She says evenly, managing not to let her alarm and unease creep into her voice. Controlling her emotions and keeping herself contained is a skill she's honed for years, though she's started to dabble in letting people in since she got to Storybrooke. Whoever this is she's talking to now, though, she has no intentions of letting in.

"You'd like that, lass, wouldn't you?" He laughs, harsh and brittle. She would like to say something sarcastic and snarky, but her sense of self preservation tells her that this isn't the time. "Why don't you call for your white knight? Perhaps your crocodile will crawl out of whatever mire he's in at the moment to save you. Don't worry love, I'll wait. Scream and cry for him until your little throat gives out, because he won't come for you."

Okay... woah. She was apparently quite right about things getting worse instead of better. He's clearly still hallucinating, and apparently, the woman he saw her as now, the terms weren't terribly friendly.

"I'm not-" She starts but his hand clamped tightly over her mouth, not enough to hurt her, but enough to smother her words. Was he afraid that she actually would start screaming for a crocodile? She wasn't even sure who that was. But anyway, why would he bait her to call for someone and then keep her from it?

"Such a pretty naïve thing, aren't you, love," He states lowly, voice soft black velvet that somehow is terrifying, looking at her with those eyes so blue at the moment, they seem black. "You think he loves you, don't you? What was it you said about him? I see the good in him?"

Emma swallows, watching him silently. With her hands strung together and his hand over her mouth, she's not exactly in a place to participate in the conversation. Though, it's clearly more of a monologue.

Hook runs the cold metal of his namesake from the nape of her neck down her cheek. It's slow and agonizing and decidedly unwelcome, and it's low for him to use such a touch to intimidate a woman. Especially considering he's got the wrong fucking one.

"There is no good in him, Lass. If he ever had any it is dead and cold and buried now. And even worse the dark in him leeches out to those around him, ruining them, stealing what good is left in them." Emma tries to talk through his hand, and his hook presses down on her neck. "Ah ah ah, love. Be quiet and listen, won't you?"

Well, she's not really given much of a fucking choice, is she? Emma tries to work on her wrist constraints as he speaks, but it's hard to do it subtly. She's confident he won't react well if he spots her trying to escape.

"I've heard about you, girl. Everyone says how loving and kind and sweet you are. How is it, exactly, that someone as compassionate as you can stoop so low to offer herself to a monster?" Emma swallows at this. Unfortunately, it can be very easy to go after the guys who are bad news, but he clearly doesn't want to hear that. "Do you watch as he ruins families, as he murders the innocent, steals whatever he wants through one sided deals and agreements? Or are you blissfully naïve of the blood on his hands, of the terror you condone by letting him touch you?"

Emma feels one of the loops around her wrists loosen. Hook releases the hand over her mouth, apparently confident that she'll stop trying to speak. His hand trails down the hollow of her throat and upwards to where her chest is on ample display, considering her jacket was left behind as his pillow.

"It isn't your fault, I suppose. You think you can help him, that he can be saved. It would be charming, if it weren't so ridiculously stupid. My dear, he cannot be saved, he can only be stopped." Emma shivers slightly at this, at the way he's looking at her. "You don't deserve the hand you have been dealt, girl, but you damned yourself associating with that monster."

Emma is about to comment about this when suddenly, she's in excruciating pain. She gives a heavy gasp of pain, but the rest of her slackens as if this might make the pain ebb away. Not only is her chest on fire, but her heart is pounding so loud it's deafening. Not only is it pounding, but it hurts. It's like someone suddenly grabbed her heart in a vice grip. And then she realized, someone has.

Through the haze of pain, she sees that Hook has stuck his hand through her, and has unfortunately, quite literally taken a hold of her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

It's been almost four days since her daughter was sucked through that portal. But it feels more like a century.

Snow is finding it difficult to focus on anything but the glaring hole in her life with her daughter gone. Every time she stops to think, the more hopeless their situation seems to be. Charming is blindly optimistic, of course, promising her every time he sees the worry on her face that they'll get their daughter back but Snow finds that she can't be that sure. When silence and stillness reaches her, doubt trickles in. They just barely found her, really, because despite the time she got to spend with Emma before the curse was broken, it's different now that she remembers. They just barely got to know her as a daughter, there's so much that they never got to talk about or explain. They only had a few days and a handful of hours, and she's already gone.

She knows that it doesn't help anyone to let her hopelessness get in the way, but four days in without even a glimmer of a solution, and it gets hard to be confident. Charming had tried to cheer her up, telling her they had made it twenty eight years, so was four days really that long? The answer was yes, they were insufferably long, because unlike those long years she hadn't been aware her only daughter was missing. Her wonderful, sweet, charming husband can be a little dense sometimes, but she can't even hate him for it. She knows he's dealing with the separation his own way. It just happens to be starkly different from how she is handling it.

They don't even know where Emma has been taken, and Snow finds this inconceivably devastating. Even worse, they have no way of trying to go after her. The hat that she disappeared through, for some reason, won't start up again. Blue couldn't explain it, and if Rumpelstiltskin had an answer, he was choosing not to share it.

Despite her attempts to jump in after her daughter, she didn't make it through on time. Her side still aches from her attempt, but all she can think about is how she should have reacted faster. Snow closes her eyes, grip tightening on the cup of long-since cold cocoa in front of her. She hears Henry's footsteps trace above her, and comforts herself slightly on the fact that he's all right. Perhaps it was vindictive, but she refused to let Regina see him now that Emma is gone and Regina was a big part of that. With her powers, this was not exactly a sensible decree, but Henry had said something to her stepmother and Regina hadn't pushed.

What little good Regina had in her only came out when it came to that boy. Snow could see it, and she might be the last person alive that really knew Regina well. However, this was not a time that Snow could neither forgive nor forget. She knew, really, that it wasn't Regina's fault that her daughter had fallen through that portal. It was nobody's fault, really. Should she blame Emma for pushing Regina out of the way and falling through herself? Of course not. It was one of the things she loved about her daughter, that despite her life and ample opportunity to become cruel and jaded she still did the right thing, no matter what. If anything, it is her fault, for not protecting her daughter.

She had made a promise to herself, when she had found her daughter after being apart for so many years, after that sacrifice to save not only her but all of the Enchanted Forest, that Emma would never have to face anything alone again. But not even days after making the vow, she'd lost her daughter due to her carelessness. She dashes at some tears that have escaped, wishing that her tears could do something even remotely productive. These tears aren't helping Emma, wherever she is.

It's the uselessness, the crushing helplessness that is torturing her. If she had something to strive towards, something she could be doing to help, maybe she wouldn't feel so lost. Henry is buzzing like a little bee over books he's taken from the Library, old fairy tales and the like. He's certain he can find an answer there. Charming is in the mines with the dwarves, trying to mine fairy dust, in hopes they can make the hat work again. Even though that wouldn't necessarily help them get to where Emma is. Jefferson has flatly explained that he can't help them unless they know where to look, which they don't. Besides that, not even the hat's master can make it work.

Jefferson's explanation as to why was hard to follow, as most things are when coming from him. He claims that Emma had charged it, and the trip to the Enchanted Forest had taken all the energy it had. This was apparently unusual for the hat, but his explanation that 'magic in this land is strange' is not a foreign one. She's heard it from a lot of people. Now it needed to be recharged, but Blue claimed it is not of her capacity (whatever that means) and no matter what deal Rumplestiltskin has been offered, he refused. Snow knows that he's up to something, holed up in the pawnshop with the girl that Jefferson had freed, but she doesn't know what. He's never refused a deal before, but maybe they're not offering anything good enough.

Snow wearily traces the edging on Emma's baby blanket. It's sad that this small blanket is the only physical thing that connects her to her daughter. Yes, certainly, her clothes and belongings smell like her and carry some sort of memory, but it is strongly Emma, and Emma alone. Her single existence without her mother or her father, or any family at all. It breaks her heart to think of all the years her daughter has spent alone, thinking she was unloved and unwanted, so Mary Margaret has clung to this blanket, this small reminder that Emma had that she was loved. Even if it was insignificant in the scheme of things, it's something.

The knock on the door jars her out of her pitiful reverie. Snow immediately freezes, staring down the closed door like it might burst open on its own. Because with magic in Storybrooke, it just might. Those with that sort of power aren't known for their subtlety. However, it doesn't, and for a long beat, Snow considers not answering. If it were good news, someone would have called her, instead of wasting time coming to the apartment. However, she gets up anyway.

It could be something. At this point, anything is worth discussing. It might not even be about Emma, but a distraction might be good for her. Emma wouldn't be happy if she let the town dissolve into disarray in her absence. Yes, technically Charming was the acting sheriff, but Mary Margaret held some responsibility, too. She was a queen, after all. Her mother would be appalled if she spent her time moping because of her own mistakes.

Snow moves to the door, not bothering to fix her hair or check and see if she's presentable. Her hair is a little mussed and her eyes are red and wet, but whoever is at the door will either be respectful or she does not care about their opinion. She opens the door abruptly, and can't help the look of surprise that registers on her face.

Regina stands in front of her, wrapped up in a long elegant coat to combat the winter chill, expression controlled and wary. Snow doesn't even know what to make of the Evil Queen lingering at her door, and finds she cannot say anything for a long moment. She doesn't even think that perhaps Regina is here to harm her until the shock wears off, but a long stretch of silence passes between them and no harm comes to her so she thinks, maybe she is here for something else.

"Regina," She states, half greeting, half a question as to why her step mother is at her doorstep. She's been clear, Regina needs to keep her distance. This has not changed.

Regina looks at her with a marked expression of distaste. "Apt observation, Snow." She says, bitingly, falling back on what is comfortable. Hostility. Snow's hackles raise, and her grip tightens on the doorknob. She moves to close the door on her stepmother without another word, even though she is aware that Regina can blast it open if she so pleased, but the older woman's hand shoots out. She grabs the side of the door, holding the door open with physical strength rather than magical.

"Stop. I'm here... to help." Regina's tone is so strained and forced that Snow is quite sure she doesn't mean it. Regina's expression is one of stark distaste.

"Why would you do that?" Snow asks, distrustful and curious all at once.

Regina pushes the door open again, trying to take control of the situation. She straightens her posture in a smooth, effortless pull of composure that had always enchanted Snow when she was younger. Regina spreads her fingers over the coarse wool of her coat as she picks her words carefully.

"For Henry, mostly," Regina answers, and Snow finds she can believe this answer, mostly. Regina, through her flaws or perhaps in spite of them, does seem to care for Henry. Even though her way of caring is not exactly complete. Regina is silent for a moment, and Snow knows her well enough that she can tell Regina is picking her words carefully. "And for Miss Swan. She did save me, and I do not forget debts."

Snow wants to remind Regina the inaccuracy of that statement, but swallows her pride. She's not sure how Regina could possibly help, but if there's a way... Any possibility at all, she will take it.

She opens the door wide enough for her stepmother to enter, and Regina stalks past her brusquely, eying the apartment with critical distaste. Snow ignores it. Regina moves to the table, pulling nothing but a pitch black candle from her pocket. Snow moves beside her, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach. She doesn't know much about magic, but she's seen a candle much like this one before. She knows this is dark, black magic she is looking at, and she wonders if she can cross this line.

As she thinks of her daughter lost alone in a world somewhere far away, possibly in danger, she realizes quite quickly she can.

"I can't bring you to your daughter," Regina tells her in a flat tone, as if she's not sure Snow can comprehend her words and wants to be clear on how far her abilities will stretch, like a magical disclaimer. "I cannot give you the capacity to talk to her. But I can let you see through her eyes, and perhaps from that you can ascertain where she is."

"How?" Mary Margaret whispers, eyes focused on the candle.

"Because you are her mother," Regina says brusquely. "The spell requires three drops of your blood, and something that connects the two of you." Snow's throat closes, because she knows the only item that applies. She fingers the blanket's satin ribbon lettering, and feels Regina's eyes on her as she does so.

"Where did you learn this spell?" She asks, voice soft and starting to fail her. She knows it's dark magic, she shouldn't have to ask. She's not even sure Regina will tell her. But she can guess.

"I found it in my mother's armoire," Regina says tightly, and Mary Margaret regrets asking. She knows there is dark ties between Regina and her mother, and she can only guess that Cora used this spell on her daughter multiple times. Snow is silent, and after a stretch, her stepmother snaps impatiently, "Well? You know what this is, Snow, try not to pretend you are unaware of the implications. If you are going to try and hide behind your facade of innocence and naiveté, then I am leaving."

Snow answers so quickly it should scare her. "No. I'll do it." She knows that her mother would be disappointed if she could see her. She wonders if her mother would do what she is doing if she had ever been in this situation. Snow knows her mother loved her, but she still isn't sure that her mother could have condoned black magic, even to save her. Her mother was so pure, so good, and so perfect. Snow has never been able to live up to her mother's image, no matter how hard she has tried. She knows that for sure, as she is agreeing to black magic at the hands of the woman who has caused her so much pain.

Regina nods, stiffly, before recollecting the candle. For a moment, Snow is confused, thinking Regina has changed her mind.

"Regina, no... Please, I'll do anything," Snow hardly comprehends the words before they're out, between them, hovering between them, something she can no longer take back. She reeks of desperation and she can't even summon up any shame for it. Regina gives a sharp noise to silence her.

"Not here, Snow. I don't want Henry to see this," She snapped, turning on an impressively tall heel and walking towards the door. "Meet me tonight. Bring the item. Everything will be ready." Snow nods, slowly at first but then so quickly it makes her ears ring. "And remember, Snow... You can't take it back once you give it. Dark magic touches you, marks you. You won't be the same after this."

Snow knows this, she's painfully aware. She knows that agreeing to dark magic is a weakness, but Emma is her weakness, and she will do anything for her. Regina leaves, just as she hears thundering footsteps down the loft stairs.

"Hey, I thought..." Henry pauses, skeptical, on the last step. "I thought I heard my mom." Mary Margaret doesn't know what to say, so she says nothing. "Was she here?"

Snow considers lying, but unfortunately, Henry is almost as good at spotting that as his birth mother. "Yes," she answers stiffly. "But I asked her to leave and she did." Henry does look a little disappointed... perhaps he had wanted to see his mother. But Mary Margaret is glad that he didn't see her and a part of her hopes that he will never have to see Regina again. It doesn't matter how much Regina loves him, she is dark and broken and caustic, and she cannot do anything but hurt him. Even if she doesn't want to.

"Couldn't I have seen her, just for a little while?" Henry asked, a begrudging tone entering his voice. Snow knows that he's doing it on purpose, the kid is a master manipulator when he wants to be. He wants to make her feel guilty and if she was a little less aware of his skills she might be.

"Henry, we've discussed this. It's Emma's decision whether you can see her or not, so please just leave it. Soon she'll be home, and we'll get this figured out." Snow moves to the kitchen, posture clearly stating that this was no longer up for discussion. Henry sulks, but she will not be affected by it. "Now, I'm going to make lunch. How does grilled cheese sound?"

Henry answers in a mutter as he clomps back up the stairs, but even if he had said he didn't want grilled cheese, she's making it anyway. Snow tries to steel herself in the normality of it. A part of her wants to call Charming, tell him what Regina offered, but she knows exactly what he'll say. That nothing is worth the price of dark magic, that they'll find Emma another way. Charming is as good as her mother was, but stubbornly so. He refuses anything he does not understand and in this she cannot be like him. She knows this is wrong, that she should be strong and wait and pray for a better solution. Good always wins, as Henry says. But as a mother she knows that she can't. This is a way that she might help her daughter and she has to do it, she has to.

Charming will be disappointed and hurt but hopefully he will understand. Even if he doesn't understand, he will forgive. And once she knows where Emma is, he will not have much room for complaint. If they only knew where she was, they would be that much closer to finding her. If they could make the hat work, Jefferson could help them find her. This was a faint, glimmering hope, and Mary Margaret was grabbing onto it eagerly with both hands.

Whatever price there was to pay, she would pay it. She had spent too many years away from her daughter to entertain the possibility of losing her. She would do anything to get her back, and even if this was a slight way of helping to find her... She would risk the evils and perils of dark magic to see her daughter safely home. For her, there was no longer an option.

She would do this. She had to.

* * *

Emma Swan does not cry easily. They're a weakness and she was only about eight years old when she realized that the world gave her no favors for being weak. Even a tiny little blonde girl didn't get a pass for her tears when she was raised in the foster system. Not many people cared about the tears of a little girl that had nobody and nothing to her name. Not foster mothers that sent her back because they got pregnant, not foster brothers who thought a few tears didn't matter as long as she stayed quiet, not foster fathers who didn't care how much she cried because she needed to learn a lesson. So she had stopped crying, stopped giving them the power of her obvious pain, because they didn't deserve it.

Besides, tears had never helped her that much anyway. A little pity, maybe, but in the end, she still got hurt. So what was the point?

But this hurt, hurt like hell, and though she had learned to avoid tears from even physical pain, not even stone-cold Emma Swan could help the tears pricking at her eyes. Was this what Graham had felt when Regina stole his heart? She couldn't move, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything but feel pain and wait for it all to be over.

And unfortunately, it was taking far too long. The longer his hand stayed through her heart, the harder it was to breathe or even stay conscious, but something kept her from passing out. Maybe it was a part of the whole tearing out heart thing, but whatever it was it was awful and she wished quite strongly that she could pass out so she wouldn't have to witness him tearing out her own heart.

Dragging her teary, bleary eyes open was a struggle in itself. Blood was roaring in her ears and she could hardly hear anything but her own heartbeat, which seemed magnified by a hundred, thundering in her eardrums. But she could see him, and the expression that had covered his features, the impassive cold and disturbingly vacant mask was gone, and the look on his face... He looked disturbed, and disgusted, and terrified.

As suddenly as his hand went through her, it was drawn out. Her body convulsed at the sensation, and though the pain should have been enough to knock her out, it didn't. Oh god, that hurt. Phantom pains still rocked through her, but the strange thing was, she could still feel her heart thundering in her chest. Even though he had taken it.

And then she noticed that his hand was empty. Despite fishing through her chest and quite certainly grabbing a hold of her heart, he didn't take it. She can't even begin to comprehend why but if he had, it would be in his hand, wouldn't it? The expression on his face is broken, tortured, and he looks almost as confused as she is. He falls heavily to his knees, staring at his hand like it betrayed him.

He gives a sharp and animal-like growl, and he strikes the ground hard enough that she has to wonder if he broke something. Then he begins muttering to himself, low and dark, and she can only catch a few words here and there. I'm sorry. Milah. I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It morphs into a mantra, over and over, like a prayer for forgiveness.

"Hook..." She tries, voice soft and breathless from the pain still rocketing through her system. "Killian. Please. It's me, Emma. Please, just let me down, okay? You're hallucinating, but it's fine now. Just please, please help me down." Her desperation soaks into her voice and she can't help it, she needs him to shake off these hallucinations, she actually needs him and she's not sure she's going to make it much longer if he doesn't get a hold of himself.

His muttering stops and for a long stretch, she's certain she's lost him again. She should try and muster up the strength to try and attempt to wriggle out of her constraints before he tries to snag her heart again but she can't. She's frozen in time, just like he is. Slowly, he looks up at her with those impossibly blue eyes and she swears she sees recognition in them. She's so relieved she could nearly kiss him she's so grateful. He knows her, he recognizes her, he'll let her down and this nightmare will be over.

And as quickly as he recognizes her, those blue eyes roll upwards and he falls forward, out like a light. Getting a glimmer of hope only to have it dashed a second later is cruel at best, and Emma nearly screams in frustration. Nothing ever comes easily to her, does it? Why does everything need to take a turn for the worse? How many more turns can there possibly be? It takes her a moment to realize that the pirate hadn't passed out completely on his own. There's a man right behind him, young but good looking, dressed in armor. He's holding a sword, still in the scabbard and judging by the way he's holding it, he clearly used the butt of the blade to knock Jones out.

However, she can't find it in herself to be relieved. At this point, she's not sure anybody in the Enchanted Forest is friendly, and she's sure this random knight is no different. The last thing she needs is somebody else trying to take advantage of her, but she's not in the best situation to fight back. She struggles with her bonds for a second, but the man raises his hand.

"Milady, we don't want to hurt you. We want to help," he says, and she warily looks at him. He doesn't look unfriendly, but then again, it's hard to read a person just based on their face. But he doesn't seem to be lying with that 'help' thing. It's only after the 'we' that it slowly dawns on her that he's not alone. Beyond him is another man in armor – or, maybe not. The slight build and the posture makes her think it might be a woman, though it's hard to tell, their face is mostly covered with a cloth mask. And beside them, a small girl with auburn hair wearing the flimsiest, foamiest, most incredibly ill-suited to the world they're currently in dress Emma can imagine.

She's not sure what to make of this random abstraction of people but she swallows her pride."Can you get me down? The blood is really rushing to my head."


	9. Chapter 9

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Getting her down is easier said than done. The one with their face covered climbs up the tree while the one who knocked out Hook awkwardly tries to look for a chivalrous way to grab her. In the end, they have to lower her enough so that the knight in shining armor can pick her up bridal style. Usually she'd be angry about being held, but he lets her down quickly enough and she's still in a lot of pain so she just lets it slide. Her head screams as the blood starts to redistribute itself, but she ignores the pain and there are plenty of pains to ignore, as she drops to her knees to check on Hook.

"Milady, what would you have me do with your captor?" Her rescuer asks, and it takes her a minute to realize he's asking if he should kill Hook, bind him, or something else. She's not sure if she should point out that Hook isn't technically her captor... He's just not her savior.

"Don't hurt him," She says suddenly and sharply, and the man steps back, as if to show he's respecting her wishes. There's a thump as the one in the tree drops down, but it's surprisingly light. They're very controlled.

Emma struggles to roll Hook onto his side. She checks for his pulse out of habit, but she's starting to think this little fucker is invincible, as his heartbeat is plodding away steady as can be. She doesn't care how strange it looks as she tugs open the buttons on his coat and looks for his wound. She nearly swallows her tongue in surprise when she notices that not only are the bandages gone but the wound is too. There's an ugly purple mark in its place, but there's no goddamn way it could have healed that fast. It's impossible. She's so shocked she runs her fingers across the skin as if she needs more proof than just what her eyes are telling her, but the skin is warm and solid beneath her fingers.

"He's not my captor," She tells the trio as she looks up to notice they're looking at her strangely. "He's... I don't know what he is, but he's not going to hurt anybody." Unless one of you happens to be a Crocodile, and let's just hope that isn't the case.

All three of them have marked looks of skepticism, which Emma could have sworn was her thing. The one who is closest clears his throat.

"Milady, he had you strung up and tried to-" Emma silenced him with a sharp look. It was good to know those still worked. She'd used them on Hook many times and he was markedly unaffected by them.

"He was poisoned. He said it was going to make him hallucinate, I guess I just didn't realize how badly." Her heart pounded, as if a painful reminder of how her own arrogance had nearly killed her. What would she have done if he had taken her heart? She still wasn't sure why he hadn't and she couldn't really ask him now.

"Poisoned?" The one that had been up the tree spoke up and Emma gave herself a few brownie points for rightly pegging her as a female. "How long ago? There is a plant in these woods that can be refined into a hallucinogenic, but it can last days. He could still be dangerous."

Emma wants to argue, that Hook had definitely recognized her before Mr. Knight in Shining Armor had knocked him out, but she doesn't have a leg to stand on here. She didn't know this forest or its hallucinogenic plants. She wondered if back in the day kids had been tripping on forest foliage, or if even the teenagers in fairytales were idealistic and too noble for such things. "I don't really know. Maybe... twelve, or so."

"Phillip, we need to restrain him," She said, not even speaking to Emma anymore, which sparked annoyance in the blonde. She was still here, and did not appreciate being spoken over like a dog.

"I'll do it. I just need to get to my coat. It's... it's over there," Emma said, pointing at the alcove where she had left Hook when he was decidedly more friendly. Her ankle pulsed unkindly, telling her that if it wasn't sprained or pulled, it could very well be broken. The two armored ones shared a glance, but the girl in the foamy dress went to the directed area and came back with her coat. "Thank you," Emma said, though it wasn't exactly easy to be polite right about now.

Hook would hate her for this, but she snapped the cuffs around his wrists, behind his back. It was kind of awkward with him completely unconscious, but she didn't have much of a choice in the matter. If he woke up and was fine, she'd uncuff him. He would understand. If he was still hallucinating, this girl probably had a point. She didn't need him digging around in her chest again, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

There was an awkward silence that hung over the three of them, and Emma tried to decide how to nicely tell them to go away. It wasn't that she wasn't grateful, but right about now she didn't trust anyone. She at least knew Hook – and once he was over the effects of the poison, she was going to get rid of him, too. She wasn't going to take any more chances in the Enchanted Forest. She couldn't take the chance that she'd get betrayed again. She was cutting these people out before they got a chance to stab her in the back.

But, before she could let them down gently, the male decided it was time for introductions.

"Milady, I am Prince Phillip. This is my betrothed Aurora." He gestured at the pretty girl in the silly dress. Emma couldn't say she was overly surprised that she'd run into Sleeping Beauty and her prince. At least Aurora was awake. "And that is our good friend, Mulan." That was more surprising, actually. What was Mulan doing with the cast of Sleeping Beauty? They were completely different movies. And wasn't Mulan based a real person? What was she even doing in the Enchanted Forest? Emma nodded numbly at the introductions, hoping she could get out of doing the same.

Aurora had other plans. "And you are?" She asked, tone impatient and kind of demanding. Well, princesses were used to getting their own way, probably.

Emma didn't want to answer these three anymore than she'd wanted to answer Hook, but at least these three were 'good guys', maybe? These stories tended to get skewed in the retelling, but she could hope that their characters were similar to the ones she'd heard in the stories. Even if they didn't really need her name, it probably wasn't going to make or break her.

"Emma," She answered, slightly begrudgingly. "Now, thanks for helping me, but I can handle it from here."

There was a long stretch of silence, and both Philip and Mulan shared a glance. Aurora looked at them and seemed annoyed. Apparently, she wasn't fond of their silent discussions. Whatever they were wordlessly talking about, Aurora had other plans.

"Don't be ridiculous," the girl snapped. "You were strung up in a tree by a crazy man that tried to steal your heart, and who knows if he really was hallucinating? Your ankle is probably broken. You need our help and we won't leave until I'm quite satisfied you are all right. We took the trouble to save you so the least you can do is let us get you settled. Understood?"

Well. Aurora had a surprising amount of backbone under that ridiculous dress and silly tiara. Emma was surprised, and according to the expressions on her companion's faces, so were Phillip and Mulan. Emma hated to be coddled in the best of circumstances but Aurora's reasoning was much like why Emma was refusing to abandon Hook. She had to know he was okay before she could leave him behind. Emma hated to do it, but she'd be a hypocrite if she refused.

And she wasn't sure Aurora was going to let her refuse.

She gave a stiff nod in agreement, and Aurora gave her a pleased, pretty smile. It did not do much to soothe Emma's nerves but she had to admire the girl's pluckiness.

"We will need to find a place to set up camp," Mulan said, eyes skyward. "We have only a couple hours of daylight left."

"There's a village of sorts not far from here," Emma offered, though she wasn't sure any of the three cared about what she had to say. However, she was surprised when Mulan turned to her, watching her and waiting for more information. "It's... uh, it's that way. About five or six buildings, but some have collapsed."

"It could offer enough shelter for the night," Phillip said, and Mulan seemed to nod in agreement. He looked down at Hook, who looked like he was sleeping off a hangover instead of a heavy blow to the back of the head. "Perhaps we ought to-"

"We aren't leaving him. I'll carry him myself if I have to," Emma snapped. Granted, she had no idea how she would accomplish such a feat, but apparently Phillip got the message. He nodded warily.

"No, Milady-" Emma gave him a sharp reprimand.

"You asked for my name, so start using it," She snapped. Phillip looked quite surprised at the sharpness of her rebuke, but he didn't say anything about it.

"Emma," He corrected. "I'll carry him." However, after a bit of struggling, by the time Philip had Hook upright, it turned out that Mulan had to assist him. Emma knew from experience the pirate was pretty heavy, so she wasn't surprised.

She was surprised, however, when Aurora helped her to her feet and even was surprisingly steady on her feet to help her along. The girl was small but stronger than she looked.

"We have some things in the cave back there, they could be useful." Emma stated, nodding in its direction. Mulan glanced back, and shook her head.

"If I have daylight, I'll return for them. We need to get to safety before night falls." Emma wanted to argue but even if they retrieved the bag, she wasn't sure who would carry it. Mulan and Phillip had their hands full with the heavy pirate, and Aurora was stronger than she looked but probably not that strong.

What had taken her twenty minutes before now took them twice that. The sun was starting to set as they finally made it to the edge of the forest. Aurora said she needed a break and Emma wasn't too far from that herself, though she hadn't made a loud note of it. Mulan and Phillip had both decided to venture further and make sure the small collection of buildings were uninhabited and safe. It was clear that neither Philip nor Mulan wanted to leave Aurora behind. Emma wasn't sure she could blame them; she was kind of a fishy subject. They both seemed to care about Aurora's safety and though Emma knew she wasn't going to hurt the girl, it wasn't exactly easy to trust people in the Enchanted Forest. Granted, there was good reason for that.

However, Aurora settled her down in the grass where she could lean against a tree, before sitting down next to her. She then waved her two companions off, apparently completely confident in her safety. That made exactly one of them. Mulan and Phillip had every right to find her questionable company for Aurora, they had hardly met her. Emma herself was more concerned about another random resident of the Enchanted Forest coming after her, seeing as she was such a charming target these days. However, to Emma's surprise, Mulan and Phillip gingerly set the still quite unconscious Hook down in the grass, and trudged off towards the abandoned village.

Emma was kind of surprised how often they let the smallest, least capable team member make so many decisions, but she had to reason that Aurora didn't often give people room to refuse. It must be nice to be a princess, she thought, to always get what you want. Aurora gave a soft sigh, closing her eyes.

Even though leaning against the tree was surprisingly comfortable, Emma wearily rolled onto her knees and crawled over to her charge. Hook was completely out, but didn't seem otherwise worse for the wear. There was quite the lump on the back of his head where good ol' Phil had struck him, but otherwise he seemed fine. Emma got a better look at his wound, but it was no easier to understand how he'd healed so quickly now than it had been before. It was astonishing, and there had to be an explanation... But she wasn't sure she'd get the answer, even if Hook was awake enough to give it. He was pretty cagey when it came to specifics, especially about himself in particular.

She checked his pulse out of habit before giving up on him, she had yet to have any success in waking him up from being KO'd. So she picked her battles, crawling back to where Aurora was still leaning against the tree. Emma did note that the girl no longer had her eyes closed, and even worse, she made no attempts to hide the fact that she had been watching Emma check on the pirate.

Emma watched her for a moment, before pulling up her jeans to admire the quite incredible bruising around her ankle from which she'd been suspended. Unsurprisingly, the ankle had swollen to at least twice its original size. Well, that couldn't be good. Emma hissed lightly as she touched the mark gingerly.

"Don't worry, Mulan has some pain-numbing herbs. I bet she has something to reduce the swelling, too." Aurora said, probably in an attempt to be reassuring. Emma wasn't sure how reassured she was, considering she might have a broken ankle. She told herself she couldn't have gotten this far on a broken ankle, but honestly, she hadn't put any weight on it during the walk, and it had hurt plenty all the same. "So, who is he? Is he your lover?"

The girl was surprisingly blunt, but severely off base. Emma shook her head with an eye roll. "No, he's not my lover. Not even close. ...He was helping me, I guess." Helping was really a strong word when all Hook had managed was to be completely irritating. "Then he got hurt, and it was kinda my fault. I just need to make sure he's okay, and then I'll be able to get on my way."

"I see," Aurora said, in a tone that implied she saw a lot more than Emma did. Emma hated this tone coming from anyone, but it was especially grating from naïve little girls much younger than she was.

Frustrated, Emma found herself snapping, "He's not my lover, all right? A pain in the fucking ass is more accurate."

Aurora could have been startled by her language and put on a shocked affront in response, Emma would have expected that. However, the girl gave her an unimpressed stare, clearly underwhelmed by Emma's foul language.

"Sure," Aurora said in an agreeable tone that Emma found far from agreeable. "You did notice how you checked on him before you checked on yourself, right? Yes, I'm sure you don't care about him in the slightest, silly me!"

Sarcasm was not a good look for Sleeping Beauty, Emma thought. She sent the girl a dark look, but Aurora was not as easy to cow as her fiancé. . Aurora even had the audacity to laugh at her.

"Just because you don't want it to be true, doesn't mean it isn't," The girl said snottily. "I can see it from a mile away, so why can't you?"

Emma hated when people told her how she felt, especially when they were painfully wrong. "Don't quit your day job, kid, because you're shit at reading body language." Aurora shrugged, but instead of respectful apology, she just made a large show of closing her eyes, as if she was quite done with the conversation.

This girl was infuriating.

Emma made a point of not checking up on the pirate again while the two waited, in particularly stony silence, for Mulan and Phillip to return. The sun was setting by the time the two returned, but at least they brought the good news that the village was safe enough to spend the night. Though Emma tried to make a good stand that she was strong enough to walk on her own, Aurora ignored her. Emma was starting to dislike how this girl could read signs perfectly well but then pointedly disregard them if they didn't suit her. Thankfully, she didn't have to tolerate the girl helping her along too far, as it took less than ten minutes to make it to the shelter that the other two had prepared. There situated in the largest building that was still upright. Mulan and Phillip had dragged in a few cots, possibly from other buildings. They put Hook in the corner, and Aurora left her on a sleeping mat not far from him. There was a musty, dirty blanket, but Emma couldn't even look at it without sneezing, so she tossed it as far away as she could manage.

The triad of nuisances all disappeared, all with different claims to find or do this or that. Emma was left behind because of her bum ankle. She hoped it wasn't as bad as it looked. It hurt plenty and looked bad, but maybe she'd be lucky and the sprain would settle by morning. While she was at it, it would be great if Hook would wake up already. If she counts she's pretty sure the bastard has been asleep or unconscious the majority of the time she's known him. Just thinking about him is enough to make her annoyed. It reminds her of Aurora, though she hasn't known the girl long enough to really compare her to the obnoxiousness that is Killian Jones. Though the girl had certainly tried.

Because, really. She and Hook? Lovers? That was a good one. Maybe Aurora did have a new career in the wings, because she was quite the little comedian. Just because Emma had a small degree of compulsion to see the pirate well, that certainly didn't mean she had feelings for him. Any feelings she had (if she had any at all!) were largely negative. After all, he'd been more trouble than he was worth. The sooner she could be rid of the troubled pirate, the better.

In fact, when he woke up, she would unlock him and send him on his way. She might not be good to walk for a couple days but she had a feeling she wouldn't be able to get rid of Aurora and Co. until she was in better shape. But that didn't mean Hook had to be around, pissing her off whenever Aurora was too bored to do it.

Speaking of Hook...

Emma was exhausted, and part of her really did want to just allow herself to pass out. But despite the annoying implications of Aurora's statement, she was worried about him. So she'd checked on him first, that didn't mean anything. She was already aware of her injuries, she'd just been ascertaining how bad it was! She found she had a troubling inclination to check on him. Aurora wasn't here to give her shit about it, at least. She chalked it up to her need to feel useful, and currently the pirate was her only charge. She could check on him quickly, sneak back into her bed, and nobody would be the wiser.

She had to crawl to him slowly, due to her protesting ankle, but he wasn't terribly far away. Mulan and Phillip had put him down with a particular lack of care, Emma noticed, on his side. She gingerly checked his pulse, but as always, it seemed normal. She sighed, before deciding he'd be more comfortable on his back. Granted, his hands cuffed behind his back, nothing would be comfortable. Thankfully, her keys were also in the jacket she'd put on after Aurora had retrieved it, so she fished them out and gingerly set about freeing his wrists so she could fasten them again in front, so he'd be more comfortable.

The second both were free, her supposedly sleeping pirate startled her by turning over abruptly. Her heart thumped uncomfortably by the unwelcome surprise, and an edge of unease crept through her. What if he was still hallucinating? His good hand wrapped around one of her wrists, and with a sudden tug he had her flush against him.

"About bloody time," He murmured, and actually hearing his voice was kind of a relief. She shifted against him to look up at his face. His eyes were clear and he seemed coherent. Thank god. "Couldn't wait to get your hands all over me, Swan?" A blessedly familiar tone purred in her ear. She gave a soft exhalation of relief, before she struggled against him and sat up.

"Get over yourself, pirate." She said, falling into their banter surprisingly easily. She should be mad at him, shouldn't she? After all, he'd put her through a lot. But could she really fault him for hallucinations that he'd even warned her about? "I think I liked you better when you were unconscious."

"Mmm, darling, I'm much more fun when I can participate," He responded, apparently not taking much offense in her pulling away. He sat up, and there wasn't a lot of distance between them. It was hard to back up with a bum ankle, so the best she could do was lean back. He seemed to sober slightly, looking at her. "I told you to leave, Swan. The hallucinations..."

Did that mean he didn't remember them? Emma gave an impassive shrug. "Nothing I can't handle, Hook. Don't be so dramatic." If he didn't remember, she wasn't going to bring it up. Their parting would be much smoother if she wasn't pressing him for details and he wasn't trying to needle her for what happened.

A sudden touch at her cheekbone surprised her and made her heart drop into her stomach. At first she wasn't sure what he was doing, but the slight pain that arched through her cheek at the touch reminded her of the blow she'd gotten from the creep with a bow.

"Did I do that to you?" Hook asked, a surprising tone entering his voice. Emma didn't know what to make of it, and decided she didn't want to.

"No," She responded evenly. Hook clearly didn't believe her, but it was the truth. She reached up to push his hand away but instead of letting her, he took hold of her hand. His eyes were piercing, as if he was trying to read her, like she was an open book and no matter how she answered, he'd know the truth if he just watched carefully.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked cleanly and clearly, and Emma schooled her features into a complete lack of reaction. It wasn't important, was it? She didn't want him to feel guilty about something he hadn't been in control of – especially right before she ditched him.

Before she even heard footsteps, she noticed Hook's attention snap to somewhere behind them. His grip on her hand tightened and she turned around, taking note of Mulan returning with the bags they'd left in the alcove (damn that girl made good time, it hadn't even been half an hour since she'd left), her expression wary.

"See? No more hallucinations," Emma said loudly, trying to kill the hostility crackling between the two. She pulled her hand sharply back from the pirate. "Nothing to worry about." Both parties looked the absolute opposite of unworried, but hey, it was worth a shot. "So, Hook, you can leave now."

She wasn't sure if the extremely controlled expression was for her benefit or Mulan's. Whatever Hook thought about the situation, it wasn't at all obvious on his face. However, while his attention was mostly on her (though at least partly on Mulan), he didn't move, and she decided to give him an extra push.

"I just wanted to know you were okay," She informed him stiffly, moving back from him as quickly as her aching ankle would allow. "You are, so, you might as well be on your way. I think I'm better off on my own."

Hook didn't answer for a long beat, but after the aching silence, he finally asked, "Is that what you want?"

Emma wasn't sure why it was difficult to answer, but she managed all the same. "Yes. I want you to leave."

Hook apparently didn't need to be told twice, stiffly standing up and moving out of the tent. Mulan was all nerves as he passed, but he didn't make any movements toward her. In fact, he acted as if she wasn't even there, though Emma was positive this was just to make her feel as if he didn't consider her a threat.

Mulan did not seem like much of a talker, but her dark eyes slid in her direction once the pirate was far enough out of earshot.

"Are you sure that was wise, Emma?" She asked simply, glancing back into the darkness. Maybe she could see him leaving and was watching where he went. She was probably right to keep an eye on him, that pirate couldn't be trusted.

"Yes," Emma answered firmly, trying to convince herself as well as Mulan. "It's the smartest thing I've done in a really long time."


	10. Chapter 10

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Shortly after Hook had made his ordered disappearance, Mulan left again. Probably to warn her friends that Emma's strange, questionable comrade was now off on his own. It was a smart move, Hook could be dangerous when he wanted to be.

If Emma had the competence to walk she would have taken off herself, but she knew that wasn't in the cards considering her ankle was throbbing while she was sitting still. So instead she retrieved the rather stiff river-washed cloths and bound her ankle. It was better than nothing although she really wished she could soak it, but she wasn't sure there was water anywhere nearby and it's not like she could get up and get it on her own. She could ask but she was already starting to feel far too indebted to her new companions.

It seemed only fair that considering they had helped her, she would give them something. Mulan had eyed her cuffs with some interest and she wasn't sure what else she had of value. Maybe she could offer up those, but the thought of losing them felt a little heartbreaking and it hurt to think of giving them away. As of right now they were really her only real connection to home.

They shouldn't have that much meaning but somehow, they did. The cuffs had been Graham's once and she'd been through a lot with them. She'd even worn them herself a couple of times, thanks to Regina, though knowing her history it wasn't terribly surprising. Mary Margaret had worn them too, though, which was pretty surprising. It stung, a little, to think of her roommate. Mother. Whatever. She hadn't even had time to process their relationship before she'd wound up here. Emma couldn't help but wonder if out there, somewhere, Mary was also trying to figure out how to get her home.

Hopefully Mary Margaret was having more luck at it then she was.

She knew she didn't have much time until the Three Musketeers returned, but she had to say she enjoyed the silence. Although, she had to admit the three had really helped her. They were supposed to be the good guys so she shouldn't be surprised. However, in the Enchanted Forest, she hadn't encountered many that were overly friendly. Hook was friendly to a point (though she would never know how much of it had been legitimate or if it had all just been an act), but she wasn't sure teaming up with him had been the smartest plan.

It had been sheer desperation, really. With more perspective and distance, she would feel less crappy about sending him on his way. She wasn't even sure why she felt so bad. Maybe because he had been the first non-avian face she had seen? He had helped her when she had needed it. Perhaps she felt she had owed him for that? But here was the thing, she really didn't owe him anything, right? They were just two people thrown together by circumstance. True they had gone through a lot together, and she was bound to feel some attachment to him. It wasn't like she was going to miss him, she'd only just met him, they weren't friends. It was just about her debt to him, and that was repaid. She had meant it when she told Mulan that getting rid of him was the smartest thing she'd done since she'd crash-landed here.

Even if he wasn't hallucinating anymore, he'd never really been the best of partners. Even if she could ignore his rather glaring flaws, she didn't trust him, and his hallucinations had shown her a lot of things she'd been trying to overlook. There was a part of him that was dark and very dangerous, and even if he kept it in check most of the time, she had no way of knowing what would set him off.

He had seemed genuinely upset at the idea he harmed her. That did mean _something_, but she's not sure that he wouldn't hurt her if she got in the way of him and his goal. It was fuzzy, but between the hallucinations and the crocodile conversation, she had a pretty clear idea of what he was capable of. He hated this Crocodile enough that he was willing to hurt innocents in the process. She had no doubt she could be on his list of unfortunate casualties if she made the mistake of getting in his way.

Hook was fighting for himself and for his own vengeance. There wasn't room for partners or alliances in that, turning on her was an inevitability. An inevitability she didn't want to face. And even if there was a slim chance that he remained loyal to her, she couldn't rightly stand by and help him when she knew how dark his motives were. Henry would be appalled if she helped a villain get closer to succeeding in their aims. Henry aside, Emma didn't want to be responsible for the bloodshed if Hook got to Storybrooke to exact his revenge, innocents would surely suffer...they always did.

No, it was best that they had split ways. He had helped her when she was injured, she'd repaid the favor. The biggest problem with splitting ways with Hook was it seemed she was back at square one. Even if she wanted to steal his plan, go to the beanstalk and take the compass, how was she going to find it? He'd been the one who knew where it was. So what was she supposed to do now? She was no closer to finding a way home than she had been the very first day.

Emma frowned, hugging her knees towards her chest, despite the twinge of pain in her ankle. She wondered how the hell she was going to make it out of here. She wasn't giving up, but man. It wasn't like her odds had never been good but the longer she spent here, the more hopeless her situation seemed to become.

Breaking her out of her thoughts at the sound of someone entering, she glanced towards the door to see Mulan returning with a large armful of wood. Aurora and Phillip were not far behind her, either. Emma automatically shifted her position to one that looked less vulnerable, stretching her legs straight out in front of her. She might have crossed them if her ankle wasn't sore.

"Where's your friend?" Aurora asked immediately, looking surprised. Emma didn't believe for a second that Mulan hadn't told Phillip and Aurora that she had sent Hook on his way. Maybe she was shocked that Emma hadn't gone limping after him as soon as the coast was clear. She was young, probably too attached to foolish ideas of romance to be sensible. There was no way she was going after that pirate any time soon.

"He woke up, the poison wore off, and he left." Emma was tempted to clarify that she had sent him away, purely for Aurora's benefit, before Phillip chimed in before she could.

"Is that wise?" He asked, mirroring what Mulan had said. Emma was slightly annoyed at this. Any way she sliced it, the question bothered her. Either he was worried that Hook might come after them, or he was worried that the pirate shouldn't be out there alone. Hook wouldn't be storming their camp, and Emma was confident of this. Phillip seemed to refuse to believe she was capable of making decisions for herself. And as for the pirate's safety, he was remarkably hard to kill. He had managed to keep himself alive for hundreds of years, apparently, so she was pretty sure he could manage on his own just fine.

"Yes. He's a big boy, I think he can handle himself," Emma huffed, hoping they could move on to a new subject, preferably one not revolving around Hook. He wasn't even here and he was managing to bother her. Phillip looked about to question further, but Aurora placed a delicate hand on his arm and he fell silent. Before anyone else could chime in on the unwanted subject, Emma purposefully changed gears. "So. Where are you three headed?"

Mulan answered, while she set up her kindling for a fire. "My friend Lancelot has a camp for refugees. We intend to head there. It is one of the few safe places that remain." Emma nodded at this, finding it an acceptable answer.

"And yourself?" Aurora asked, dropping down next to Emma. Phillip, who had apparently found not only a pail but some water to put in it, rummaged around the room to collect cups for all of them. Probably a good idea for them to drink it but right now all Emma wanted was to soak her ankle.

Aurora's question was a good one and one Emma found difficult to answer. "I don't know, really," She muttered, annoyed by her own lack of direction.

"You're trying to find your way home, aren't you? It's clear you're not from the forest." Aurora's bluntness was apparently surprising to Mulan and Phillip, who both gave her a long look. "What? Oh, please, it's obvious. Your clothes are very strange, those irons you used on that man were like nothing I've seen before. And that metal object that Phillip found... you're from another world, yes?"

Emma would have been surprised if Hook hadn't also noticed how out of place she was upon mere minutes of knowing her. It was a little weird, how commonplace portals seemed to be here. But the Forest was clearly much different than her world. It was still a little awkward talking about something so revealing but she had to own up to the fact that trying to hide her motives made it very difficult to get help. She needed a portal and if these three knew anything about them, had any knowledge to share, then she had to be upfront about the fact she wasn't from here. Besides, it was apparently very obvious.

"Metal object?" Emma clarified, eyebrows raised. Phillip rather sheepishly pulled something from behind his back. Oh, her gun. Lovely, though much less useless without the bullets. She wondered if Hook had sauntered off with them. He set it on the floor close to her but she was too sore to try and reach for it. "Yes, I am. And you're right, I'm trying to get back. I don't suppose any of you have a magic bean I could borrow." Each of them gave a different gesture but all of them carried the same message: Sorry, but no. Yeah, of course she wouldn't be that lucky.

"I haven't heard of anyone leaving here since the curse," Phillip said, sounding a little uncomfortable. He handed his lady love a glass of water first, which she accepted with the slightest glance of distaste (probably not up to princess standards but desperate times), then to Emma. He set one near Mulan but she was clearly preoccupied. The water had a sharp metallic taste. Emma thought about the crazy water stains it would leave. But that was neither here nor there. Not a whole lot of showers for her to worry about in the Enchanted Forest.

"Yeah, so I've been told," Emma replied sourly, frowning a bit. Aurora patted her leg in a way that was supposed to be comforting, she had to guess, but Emma found herself hard to comfort.

"I do not know much of portals," Mulan said, tone apologetic. Emma had to hand it to Mulan – in about five minutes the girl had thrown together a pleasant fire. She certainly seemed to be able to get stuff done.

"I am sorry to admit the same," Phillip responded, and he did look sorry. The kid looked like a kicked puppy.

"Well, I know plenty about portals," Aurora said. This earned her a surprised look from her companions, and Emma as well. That was kind of surprising, considering she was a fair princess. What did they know of magic and portals? "Well, I _was_ raised by fairies," She reminded her party. Oh... yeah, Emma could vaguely remember that. She wondered if the dress color fight had really happened, that had always been her favorite part of that movie.

However, Emma wisely chose not to speak up about her knowledge of Aurora's story, that might not end well. She remained silent, which left opportunity for the auburn haired girl to continue. Turning to Emma, she began to recite clearly what must have been a lecture about portals.

"Now, there are many ways to conjure a portal but you are limited because I assume you are not magical." Emma had to agree with that. Besides Jefferson's insane mumblings, there was no reason to assume she was. "That leaves you with a magic bean, or an Enchanted Device used by portal jumpers." Which was exactly what Hook had told her. Great.

"So... any idea where I can get my hands on either of those?" Emma wondered, hopeful.

"Well..." Aurora looked apologetic herself. Okay, great, more bad news. "Except for the wardrobe... No, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not."

"Wardrobe?" Emma repeated automatically, this option having not been listed when she had spoken to Hook. Maybe he didn't know about it.

"Oh, yes. My godmothers told me about it, before I... Well. Never mind that. But apparently, before the Evil Queen cursed this land, the King and Queen had a wardrobe fashioned from an enchanted tree. It sent the princess to a world without magic, so she could one day break the curse. Oh... right. That wardrobe. She couldn't really berate herself for not remembering something she'd seen as an infant. Just because she'd read a couple pages from Henry's book, didn't mean they registered as her actual past.

Emma stilled her inner monologue to look up and notice the hopeful expression on all of the faces around her. Okay, weird. Her eyebrows rose, and Mulan noticed her confusion before the other two.

"It's been twenty eight years," Mulan informed her gently. "It is said that when the princess is twenty eight, she will break the curse. Soon the curse will be broken, and everything will return to what it once was." Oh. _Oh._ Emma realized dully that all three of them were waiting for the day the curse would be broken and everything would be good again.

Except, she _had_ broken the curse. And apparently the Enchanted Forest hadn't changed in the slightest.

A part of her wanted to tell them, that their hope was in vain. Some savior she was, considering she had apparently left an entire other world waiting for a salvation and hadn't spared them the slightest thought. The hopeless feeling returned again. Back in Storybrooke everyone had been confused when they hadn't returned to the Enchanted Forest. Things had been confusing enough back there, she hadn't even considered the world they had all left behind. She had foolishly assumed nobody had been exempt from the curse. This was just great. Not only had Regina kidnapped and mindtraped a town full of people, she had left a number of people in a mostly destroyed world to suffer for 28 years.

It was a bit of a lie by omission, but she didn't want to break their spirits. Hope was a powerful thing, and it might keep them alive long enough so that she actually could help them. Besides, even admitting she was a princess was still too weird. She struggled with that in Storybrooke, but surrounded by strangers who were all pinning their hopes on a princess and knowing that she wouldn't live up to expectation made admitting the truth feel almost impossible.

Emma made a promise to herself that she would try and find a way to save the people who were abandoned here as well. There was no way she could live with herself if she didn't. She wasn't sure exactly how they'd manage that yet, but she'd find a way. She had to. She hadn't wanted to be the savior but she was stuck with it, and Emma Swan did not halfass anything. She'd save them all if it killed her.

"Any other way?" She wondered hopelessly. If she had a fount of portal-related information at her side, it would be criminal not to get the full story. Aurora considered this for a moment, before answering.

"Well... _maybe._" Emma watched expectantly, and Aurora hesitated. "Well, there are rips in every world that leads to another. There used to be a lot in the Enchanted Forest, according to my godmothers. But..."

"But what?" Emma insisted. Why dangle information and withhold it?

"Well, I think you need to be magical to open them," Aurora said thoughtfully. Oh, well, great. Emma wasn't even sure why Aurora had offered a solution she couldn't even use. "And... well, I don't know how you'd find them. Those who might have known about them are probably gone." Well, great. So that information was useless.

"Good to know," Emma muttered, finishing her water so she didn't snap at the girl. She didn't mean any harm. Fire started, Mulan took a seat near the exit. Of the three of them, Emma found she liked Mulan the best. She didn't skirt around issues and she seemed to be really capable. Something Emma was envious of right about now. She missed being capable and savvy. It was hard being so far out of her element.

It was a little awkward asking about it, but considering a dangerous man had tried to abduct her and take her to a 'witch', she felt compelled to ask for her own safety.

"Do any of you know who 'the witch' is?" Aurora looked thoughtful but confused. Phillip was as blank as a sheet of paper, so no help there, either. And Mulan just looked cautious. Well, that was probably a no. "Great. So I don't suppose you know why she's after me, either?"

Mulan shifted slightly. "Why do you believe that a witch is after you?"

Okay, fair question. "Well, the guy who tied me up-" All three of them immediately looked concerned, and Emma had to recover quickly. "No, not the leather-y one." No, that one had just tried to steal her heart. No big deal. "The dead one. He said the witch wanted me, alive. He seemed to think that he'd get something for taking me to her. Wherever that is," Emma frowned, watching the movement in the fire, wishing it could tell her the answers she needed to know. "I don't even know how this witch knew who I was. I haven't even been here that long."

The silence that stretched between all of them was pretty strange. At least a couple of them looked thoughtful.

"Well, if she's magical, maybe she felt the power of the portal that brought you here?" Aurora suggested, in a tone that implied she was just guessing broadly. Sadly, Emma couldn't dispute her suggestion, so she had to stay silent.

"But how would she know who I was, to send people after me?" Emma wondered out loud, frowning. It hadn't occurred to her to offer the food she had to the group. She should have been hungry, but she wasn't.

"That's easy," Aurora said matter-of-factly. Emma blinked, before turning towards the girl expectantly. "Well, you _don't_ exactly look like you're from around here, now do you?" Oh. Well, yeah. Maybe the girl had a point. She hadn't seen anyone else running around in jeans and boots and bright red leather.

"There are some clothes in one of the abandoned homes. There might be something you could change into," Phillip offered. Emma nodded numbly. That was probably a good idea.

"Where do you intend to go now?" Mulan wondered carefully, opening a bag of her own. Apparently the trio had some food of their own, and Mulan began distributing four small, considered portions. Feeling stupid for not thinking of it earlier, Emma reached for her own bag of food, even though at this point it was just a random smattering of bruised berries, before tossing it to Mulan. Mulan looked at it carefully, as if she wasn't sure she should accept, but in the end she took it. Perhaps because she didn't want to step on Emma's pride by spurning her offering.

"I'm not sure... The wardrobe, maybe." It wasn't much of a lead, but maybe it could work again? It was meant for her, after all. Didn't that count for something?

"Travel sounds unwise until your ankle heals," Phillip said, sounding concerned. "We would offer to assist, but we have to get Aurora back to camp."

"_Phillip_!" The sharp tone next to her surprised her. Aurora had stormed to her feet in a flash of flimsy silk. "What are you talking about? Of course we can help her, I will be _fine._"

Phillip looked dismayed to have upset his lady-love, but apparently not so dismayed that he'd retreat on his statement. "Aurora, it isn't safe here anymore. I have to see you to safety before I can consider-"

"I am _not_ helpless, Phillip! I'm so tired of being coddled! And who said you got to make decisions for me?" In an angry huff, Aurora stomped past the warm fire and out into the open air. Phillip looked like he'd swallowed his tongue as he ran after her. Mulan watched them go with a silent somber expression. Wow, that was unexpected. But Emma had to say she felt Aurora's pain. She too had discounted the girl as weak, but perhaps that had been wrong of her. She knew how hard it was as a woman to be taken seriously, and she'd already discounted the girl just because she was in a fancy dress. After all, Aurora had taken charge and been the most informed of the group. It was unfair to disregard her just because of what she was wearing. She was probably stronger than any of them realized.

Mulan had collected two of the servings and brought it towards her. Emma muttered a word of thanks, feeling completely lacking in the hunger department, but she would try and force some food down anyway. She didn't comment on Phillip or Aurora, it really wasn't her place.

"I would offer my assistance in your quest but I have to see Phillip and Aurora to safety." Mulan said softly. She pointed at Emma's ankle. "May I?"

Emma nodded shortly, allowing the woman to inspect her ankle. Mulan's touch was gentle and concise but still made her wince.

"It's really fine. I'm used to being on my own," Emma shrugged, chewing on a strange looking raw vegetable that Mulan had provided. It wasn't bad, tasted like a mix of broccoli and spinach.

"You could come with us to the camp, you know. Maybe some of the other refugees would know more," Suggested the other woman, rifling through her sack again and pulling a small satchel. From inside it she procured a small plant, and then another, both of which she dropped in Emma's water and bruised with a small pestle. She offered it up , "It will help with the pain and the swelling."

Emma was a little wary. Even if it was something that would knock her out though, that probably wouldn't be the worst thing right about now. She accepted the drink and took a long chug, swallowing before she allowed herself to make a face. Ugh, and she thought modern medicine tasted bad. Mulan gave her a small smile, apparently not surprised by her reaction.

"No, I don't think I could stand to waste any more time." Emma said, though she did appreciate the offer. Mulan, Aurora and Phillip had been nothing but helpful, and she wished she had something to give them for their trouble."But really thank you. For... everything. You three have given me quite a lot."

Mulan nodded, abandoning Emma's ankle. There probably wasn't much more she could do for it. The younger woman began eating her rations slowly.

"It is getting harder and harder to do the right thing these days. We do what we can." Mulan said, and Emma nodded slowly. She had always found it a struggle to do the right thing, even back at home. It must be a lot harder here when your life was on the line if you tried to help the wrong person.

"Well... I appreciate it. If you three hadn't come along, who knows what might have happened." True, Hook hadn't actually pulled her heart out, had perhaps been in the process of a mental breakdown, but he very well might have decided to kill her some other way. There was no way to know now, and it probably wouldn't help freaking out about what might have been.

Mulan didn't answer, simply nodding. The silence that hung between them was appreciated and after a long stretch, Mulan rose. "I'm going to go check on them," She said. Emma nodded, unsure her voice would still carry any weight. She was so very exhausted her body was running on auxiliary. As Mulan moved out of the small room, Emma hypnotically stared at the fire letting the flames lull her into semi-unconsciousness before gathering what remaining strength she could muster to drag herself to a cot. In a brief flash she succumbed to the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Snow can't slip away from her boys right away. Charming just returned home exhausted but happy. He and the Dwarves have finally found a way to mine the diamonds. He's hopeful that Blue can find a way to make faerie dust. He seems to think it is the answer to all of their problems. Like a little sprinkle can fix everything. like Jefferson's Hat, for starters, and he hopes they can even use the dust to find a way back to the Enchanted Forest for the entire town, as unrealistic as that sounds. Henry is buzzing with excitement about a passage he found in his book. Something about tears between the worlds and how they can be used to get from one to the next. She's tried listening to him but despite everything she has to remind him that you cannot believe everything you read in books.

The two boys talk animatedly about their separate finds, exclaiming all the productive, impressive ways the information will serve them. Snow listens to them patiently, not reminding them that magic in this world is strange and unpredictable. She knows how much these finds mean to them, and wishes she had something as strong and compelling to inspire her. She sees Henry to bed, and sneaks out of her own once her husband is dead asleep, softly snoring in a familiar rhythm that once calmed her.

As Mary Margaret, she never visited the Mayor's mansion. She'd never really thought about how much the Mayor seemed to dislike her during the curse. Maybe that was a part of the curse itself, that she wouldn't question Regina's hostility. It makes Snow wonder how intricate this curse really was. Had Regina retained her memories the entire time, or had she been forced into a new identity just like the rest of them? It was impossible to say, unless she asked, and she doubted Regina would be terribly forthcoming. For now, she was too focused on her daughter to consider airing idle curiosities on the now defunct curse.

Instead, she wraps her seemingly meager coat around her thin shoulders, clutching Emma's baby blanket in a tight grip, and forces her footsteps forward.

Regina was waiting for her, and despite the nerves and fear bubbling through her, Snow knew what she was doing and only a small tinge of regret at not telling Charming as she continues to make her way towards the mansion. Regina had offered the most compelling way to reach out to Emma so far, and Mary would feel downright ashamed if she didn't take it. She had to know her daughter was all right, wherever she was, that she was at least still alive.

Some mothers claimed that they would just _know_ if something happened to their child. A sort of maternal assurance that gives them hope when things look grim. Mary Margaret does not know if Emma is all right. She lacks that internal bond with her daughter, one she wishes she could feel desperately. Maybe it's because she had to give her baby up before she really got a chance to know her. Maybe the link between mother and child is only imaginary. But Snow feels its absence all the same.

The walk had been long and cold but the bitter chill had been invigorating, and had hurt just enough to remind Snow that this wasn't a painful dream. Her breath frosted in the cold air, her cheeks and her eyes stung from the winter starkness, but nothing hurt as much as her heart. She knew that her mother would be disappointed in the path she was taking. Her husband would have stopped her if he'd had any idea. She should have felt more guilt in resorting to black magic, the one thing she had been so adamant against.

She had not really understood the desire to use something so potent and so powerful until she had needed it so desperately.

Did she really have another choice? So Charming had faerie dust but what could that really accomplish? Nobody had a clue, not even Blue, one of the strongest magical entities in Storybrooke. Mary Margaret wanted to scream, considering how stubbornly unhelpful Rumpelstiltskin was being. Wasn't making deals his motivation in life? That he refused to help them, time and time again, was driving her up a wall. Maybe he didn't even know how to help. The thought of that was maybe even scarier than him refusal. His young companion seemed sympathetic to their plight but hadn't tried to push him to help just the same.

Mary wasn't sure who the dark haired girl was, but she hoped the girl understood the kind of man she was with. It was hard to imagine that was the case. It was hard to imagine anyone with a man like The Dark One.

Snow tries to shake the thoughts from her head as she walks up to Regina's door. She raises her bare hand to knock, but before she can, the door swings open silently. Regina is on the other side, dressed simply in a dark dress. It's still odd to see her stepmother without her grandeur. Regina holds the door open just enough for her to enter, and she does so without hesitation. Regina does not offer to take her coat or ask if she'd like a drink. Snow doesn't mind; there's no room in the hate and pain between them for pleasantries. Regina walks into her dining room, and Snow follows, leaving her coat on a stand near the door.

The place is dimly lit with many candles. It looks somber but not as evil as she was expecting. If anything, it reminds her of not too long ago when she used to sneak dinners with a then-married David during. While it doesn't look sinister, it does remind her of forbidden things. Snow wants to turn on the light, but it's Regina's house and if she wanted it on she would have done it herself.

"Sit," Regina says harshly, indicating a chair near the head of the table. The black candle sits near it, and seeing it makes Snow's stomach knot. She circles the table and sits, clutching the blanket in her frigid fingers.

Regina sits primly at the head of the table, surprisingly close to her. She pulls out a dagger, which she sets down in front of her. Snow's eyes linger at the decorative handle. Her stepmother's voice is curt and cold when she speaks.

"The spell is simple. We will take your blood and mar the object that connects you. As it goes to the flame, you will close your eyes and think of Emma. You will take my hands; I will focus it for you. You haven't magic in the slightest so this might be difficult." Regina said the words with such contempt, as if Snow's lack of magic was something to be disgusted by. "What you see in your head is what she sees. Look at everything, because you might not have much time, and you must use it wisely. Do _not_ speak. Do you understand?"

Snow shivers, but nods. She spreads the baby blanket before them, tenderly, as she knows it's the last time. She feels the pricks of tears forming at her eyes, but she will not cry. This is for Emma, and she will not regret it. It's a blanket, and her daughter is more important than a physical object. Snow would burn every possession she has if it would mean Emma's safety.

She offers a finger, but Regina snatches her by the wrist and opens her hand. Snow cries out as Regina quite mercilessly slices into her palm, but she doesn't get a chance to complain as Regina smears the sticky crimson into the pure white knit of the blanket. When it is done, Regina releases her, and Snow's hands are shaking.

With her right hand, Regina makes a twirling motion, until the blanket floats on its own. Magic has always made her feel a little ill, and Snow certainly feels that way now. Regina pushes a box of matches towards her.

"Light the candle. Offer it to the flame," She says simply. Snow closes her eyes, wishing that Regina could do it for her. Did she really want to do this? The Dark Magic has hardly begun and yet it seems to smother both of them, sticking to them like tar that will never come clean. Mary ignores her shaky hands as she takes the matches, fumbling until she gets one to light. The candle lights easily, and she holds her breath as she brings the small flame to ignite the blanket. It lights, just at the edge, the dark smell of smoke entering the room but not somehow not visibly flooding it.

Regina takes both her hands, and Snow can feel the magic running through Regina's veins. Does it hurt, she wonders, to always have that much power coursing through you? She never really thought about how powerful Regina was, really. It's not just the spells that give her power, there's overwhelming amounts of sheer magic darting through her veins, waiting for her to use it.

"Close your eyes. Do as I told you," Regina snaps, and Mary does so, letting her eyes shutter closed. She looks desperately, looking even for a flash of an image.

"I don't _see anything,_" Her voice comes out strained and panicked. What if this won't work? What if she torched that blanket for nothing? Is there still time to stop? Oh, gods, what has she done?

"_Do not speak," _Regina growled. "Do as I said, Snow. Think of her. See her in your mind. See what she sees." Snow tries to calm her breathing, thinking of her daughter. She thinks of her beautiful but rare smile, and the golden hair she got from her papa. The look in her eyes when she looks down at Henry, a look of both fear and love that can't be hidden no matter how hard she tries. How she pretends she isn't hungry but yet can be convinced to stop for breakfast if coffee and bear claws are mentioned. The way she looks completely out of her depth whenever someone insinuates that they care. That heartbreaking guarded expression her daughter never seems to be able to shake. The way she looked swaddled in her blanket, all green eyes and tiny perfect fingers, the few moments they had together before Snow's world went crashing down.

And suddenly… she sees something.

The picture is strange, and skewed. The color isn't quite right, but the more she focuses the clearer it becomes. At first, it's hard to tell what she's seeing, but she slowly realizes that she's looking at the inside of a room. There are two girls in front of her, staring at something on a table. One is brandishing something, heavy and green. The picture turns, and she can see a man at a doorway. He leans against the doorframe, and the look on his face is hard to read. She can see him rubbing his palm with the tips of his fingers, and his eyes look at something far away, perhaps not even in front of him. Mary doesn't recognize him, and she begins to feel hopeless when she notices a tree.

An odd tree, gnarled and old, that somehow has grown into the shape of a face. She had seen it, once, as a little girl. They were on the way to visit some other kingdom and her father had plucked her off her pony to show it to her. He had pointed out to her the eyes, and the large knot of a nose, and the smile you had to bend over to see.

She _knew _that tree. She'd _been _there.

"It's the Enchanted Forest, she's home, my baby's home!" Mary says, the words tumbling out of her. Sharp pain arches through her hand as Regina presses into her wound.

"Be _silent._" Regina barks. Mary is buzzing with energy. She _did it. _She knows where Emma is. She still doesn't know how they'll find their way back but Emma is alive, she isn't alone. This is more than she could have asked for. She wishes she could talk to her daughter, sharply and desperately, but maybe this is enough for now.

"Snow, listen closely. You must think of Lake Nostros." Regina says suddenly, though her tone is different now. It's more calculating, and even a little unsure.

"Why?" Snow asks, wincing as Regina once again digs into her hand.

"Do as I say. Think it. Over and over. Think of it, of the water. That you need it, that you have to collect some before you return, you must or you cannot come back." Snow does so, feverishly, even though she isn't sure what it means. She feels that what she's doing is wrong. Even worse than what she had been doing before. However, she doesn't want to refuse her stepmother. She's caught in a rush of emotion, everything is moving too fast and she can't take a breath to think things out. But she thinks it all the same, thinks it over and over and doesn't stop. She thinks and thinks and thinks and thinks-

There is a loud noise, and her eyes fly open. The light bulbs in Regina's crystal chandelier have all shattered. But her attention goes to the blanket, the beautiful baby blanket. What was once a blanket is now ash. It had been hovering as it burned, suspended in the air, and as the spell ends and the blanket has nothing left to burn it falls, coating the table and the women sitting at it in the remains. The candle burns a moment more, before fizzling slowly until the flame disappears and there is only smoke.

* * *

Emma isn't sure how long she got to sleep, but it certainly doesn't seem to be enough when she finally wakes. The other three seem alert and functional by the time she finally drags herself into awareness. Aurora sits stiffly away from both Mulan and Phillip - apparently the fight that was started last night continues on into the morning. Emma feels a little guilty that she's caused a rift between the two, but it's not really her fault. Phillip _shouldn't_ make decisions for Aurora, and honestly, she never asked Aurora to be a martyr to her cause.

The three seem eager to make their way onwards, but before they do, they seem determined to set Emma up to be more successful in her adventures. Mulan and Aurora have found a selection of clothing from the abandoned houses, and after shooing Phillip from the room, help her into them. Aurora wants her to dress prettily, Mulan favors things that are less pretty but certainly more productive. In the end, Emma dresses as she often does - feminine but functional at the same time.

She can't see herself, but just wearing the clothes feels strange. The soft leather boots they found her are much more comfortable, thankfully. Her legs are wrapped in leggings, which she hopes won't end up being too warm. People of the Enchanted Forest seem to have favored layers. She finds the girdle unnecessary, and will probably get rid of it once Aurora is out of eyesight, but the girl is so charmed by it she has little heart to refuse her when Aurora suggests she wear it. It is quite pretty, green velvet with black ribbon laces.

Emma Swan wears skirts with purpose - usually when she was trying to catch a bail jumper or admittedly, when she was trying to get laid at a bar. She doesn't hate skirts or anything, but the one time she wore a dress around the apartment Mary Margaret had nearly swallowed her tongue. The attitude that she could only wear a dress when occasion demanded bothered her for some reason. So she wasn't the stereotypical girl, did that mean she was doomed to slacks and button-ups the rest of her life?

Contrary to popular thinking, Emma Swan did like to feel pretty. And while she knew she looked quite impressive in her t-shirt/jean/boot combo, even she appreciated a dress sometimes.

Granted, she hadn't anticipated wearing one here, but it's more comfortable than she had thought it would be. Aurora plaits her hair with expert fingers, and even offers to pin it up for her, but Emma refuses. It only makes her think of Hook rooting around in her hair for pins. Aurora even found a dark green cloak for her to wear. It reminds her of Ruby, only much less red, but she finds it charming anyway. As she reaches out to accept it, she glances to the side for a moment to see Phillip has returned. He seems lost in his thoughts, however, and doesn't seem to be paying them much mind. There is a tree just beyond him and it is strange, but it almost looks like a face. Emma would look longer, but Aurora circles her to help her with the cloak, and drags her attention back to the situation at hand.

Once the cloak is on, she wishes there was a mirror around. She would like to see the transformation. It's the first time she's ever really felt like she belonged in a fairy tale, and she wishes suddenly that her mother could see it. No doubt Mary Margaret would love to see her dressed like this.

Mulan gives her a couple of doses of herbs to keep her ankle in check, though the swelling has gone down drastically as it is. She also gives Emma a large share of their food, promising that they'll find more on the road. Before they depart, Aurora hands Emma a small bag. Not sure what it is at first, Emma glances inside. It carries the intricate, expensive looking tiara the princess had been wearing earlier.

"I can't," She tries, but Aurora refuses to take it back.

"No, take it. Money doesn't mean much these days, but gemstones still hold some power. You could barter with it if you need to," Aurora tells her. Emma is grateful, as she doesn't have much of value. She regrets thinking so harshly of the girl earlier - annoying, maybe, but the girl's heart is in the right place. Aurora gives her a hug, which Emma usually doesn't care for, but the girl has done a lot for her, so she graciously returns it. Mulan gives her a slight nod, and the girls walk off together. Phillip was in charge of navigating her towards the castle, apparently, and has promised to catch up with them later after giving her the directions. Emma watches the girls go, wondering if she'll get a chance to see them again.

She catches Phillip staring, with a strange and sad look in his eye. She wonders if his thoughts have gone to the people who had owned the clothes she's now wearing. She isn't going to lie, hers certainly did. But it reassures her slightly that they probably aren't dead, they're just stuck in Maine with Regina. Surely not a blessed fate, but better than death for sure.

"Well? Do I blend I look like a native... er, Forester?" Emma didn't know if there was a proper term like Minnesotan or Hoosier, so she adlibs one. It does not work well, but Emma has never claimed to be creative. Phillip gives a small, pained smile. Apparently he's not much for humor. Or, more likely, that joke wasn't very funny.

"Yes, certainly so," He agrees. Emma doesn't push the conversation further, she can tell when a guy doesn't want to talk. She moves slowly to his side (speed is not her forte at this point), and waits for him to direct her. "Do you see that mountain?" Emma nods, as it's hard to miss. "You needn't climb it. I don't suppose you could, though there is a pass through it. Go around, you'll see a lake bed to the side. It used to be a lake, anyway, it's dried up now." She nods, memorizing it all in her head so she'll remember. "Once there, you will be able to see it. If you can't find it, wait for the sun to rise and you will see the shadow of the castle in the sunrise."

Well, that sounded simple enough. Even Emma is sure that she can accomplish that. She's not sure what she'll do when she gets to the castle, granted, but she can certainly get there. Maybe her mother employed fairies or something, and she'll be able to find more information on finding a way home. It's strange to think about the fact she's going to the place she was born, but she knows better to think that out loud.

There is a long stretch of silence between her and Phillip, and she turns to him. He doesn't say a word in farewell, and she's not sure what to say.

"Well... Thank you. For everything," She says finally, and his dark eyes fall on hers. He offers her a gloved hand, which is at least a farewell she understands. She gladly reaches her hand out for a farewell shake, and he takes it ,a look in his eyes Emma can't place. It's a normal handshake at first, but then his grip on her hand tightens and a sharp burn breaks out across her palm. She gives a hiss of pain, trying to pull her hand back, but Phillip's grip is too strong. By the time she snaps her hand back, the pain is gone. She stares at him strangely, and his face is a mix of sorrow and sudden relief.

"I'm sorry... You don't understand it now, but I had to. You are a stranger, and... I can't leave them behind, Emma. I can't." He shakes his head and stares at the ground. Emma frowns, trying to figure what he means. Whatever he's talking about, he doesn't seem to be lying, but he is certainly acting strange. She opens her hand to inspect what he's done to her, and her stomach drops. She's seen this mark, Mr. Gold showed it to her in a book and then she'd seen it burned into Regina's palm. It's the mark of the wraith.

"You bastard!" She shouts, but when she looks up, the boy is doing his best to disappear. He's moving pretty quickly, like he's running for his life even though he knows with her ankle that she won't be able to catch up. He's right to run, she doesn't care that he's wearing armor, she'd find a place to land a punch. Emma doesn't have much in the way of ammunition but she chucks one of the bags at him. It bounces off his back but he doesn't slow.

She can't believe it, but a part of her isn't as mad as she ought to be. It's not like she doesn't understand why he did it. Wouldn't she consider the same if something were to separate her from her family? Consider, yes. She hopes she wouldn't pin danger on someone else to assure the safety of herself and the ones she loves. But she's just not sure anymore. The longer she stares at the mark, the more it sinks into her skin, until it's like it was never there at all.

She feels a rush of bitter helplessness. She understands why Phillip did it, and she certainly didn't want him to be harmed by the Wraith either, but did she _really_ need another obstacle to surmount at this point? Didn't she already have millions to worry about? It wasn't enough to not have any contact home or any idea how she could get back to her family, now she'll have a wraith after her with the intent to sucking out her soul if she can' scare it off every night.

At least Mulan had given her flint for starting fires, but the Enchanted Forest got much darker than it did in civilization, where street lights and electricity had kept a higher level of light at all times. Not for the first time since she has been forced on this journey, Emma isn't sure she's going to make it back to Henry alive.

For some reason, she remembers, quite randomly, that story about her father and the siren in the Lake. What was it called again? Lake Nostros? She frowns, wondering if it would help her at all. It was supposed to return things that were lost, but she's not sure if that's applicable at the moment. The thought sticks at the back of her head, like a Taylor Swift song she hates but can't forget. She shakes her head, forcing herself to think of something else.

She's not sure what the plan is now, but she's going to try and make her way towards the castle. She's got quite a few hours of daylight left, and before they're over, she's going to have to figure out how to hold off a wraith.


	12. Chapter 12

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Traveling alone was what Emma had thought she wanted, but she finds it less enjoyable than she would have expected. Perhaps it is because despite being used to being alone, she has never really grown to like it. Even when she can't show it, Emma likes to be around people. She'd rather be with someone than alone. Maybe because she is already so aware of what alone feels like.

The silence is the most oppressive part. She can't even hum to herself to keep the silence from becoming overwhelming, since she doesn't want to bring attention to herself. She draws her hood over her face and moves as quickly as she can manage, which is sadly not particularly fast. Mulan's herbal remedy has taken a majority of her pain, but she doesn't want to push the ankle too far. Just because she can't feel the damage, doesn't mean she wasn't causing any. She wishes she could have found a sort of crutch back in the village, but she hadn't been so lucky.

She walks with her hand in front of her, clenching and unclenching it. She can still feel the mark, even if she can't see it. Her thoughts flit from topic to topic but they revolve around two things, mostly. How she's going to avoid the wraith, and how she _needs_ to get water from Lake Nostros before she returns home.

One of them makes sense, the other does not. It drills into her thoughts like a parasite, popping up when she is thinking of other things or pointedly trying to think of nothing at all. It is driving her crazy, especially because the thought seems so very useless. Why would that water help her? Wasn't the well in Storybrooke supposed to be holding water from Lake Nostros, anyway? That's what August had said, not too long ago when he had been trying to convince her of the curse. If that was the case, why couldn't she just get the water from there once she got home?

When she could steer her thoughts from the Lake, she thought of how to avoid the wraith. It hated fire that much she could remember. It really hadn't been that long since she'd fought it, though she'd had a lot more help at the time. Thinking about Mary Margaret and David stings, so she pushes that thought out of her head to focus on planning instead.

She would have to make a hell of a lot of fire, and maybe she could burn the fucking thing to death. She wasn't even sure it could die, but she was going to give it her best shot. She had no other options, really. At the very least, she had to hurt it enough to get it to run away to lick its wounds and recuperate. And … she needed to keep doing that until she found a way back to Storybrooke. If the wardrobe would work, magically, then maybe it wasn't such a terrible plan.

An errant thought occurred to her. Maybe, if she used the lake's water on the wardrobe, it would work? Maybe that was why she couldn't stop thinking of it. Maybe she really did need it to get home. _That's_ why she couldn't get it out of her head! Unfortunately, she had no idea where the lake was. She shook it out of her head for now. She'd worry about it later. Or, _try _to worry about it later, considering it kept sneaking back into her head despite every attempt to forget it.

Until then, she walked. She planned what she would do to make an area bright enough to repel the wraith. She would use some fabric from one of her bags to tie to some arrows. She could set them on fire and if she managed to hit the damn thing, it would certainly help it burn. She decided that she'd collect a bunch of sticks and kindling and make herself a ring of fire that even Johnny Cash would be proud of. She'd survive the night, and consider what to do in the morning.

Part of her was aware that she would have to sleep at some point. She was already exhausted, but she had little options. She couldn't sleep when night hit and she couldn't waste any time she could use moving closer to the castle sleeping either. If only the Enchanted Forest had a Starbucks.

She thought a couple times of Hook, too. More than she wanted to admit. She wondered where he was. Probably halfway up his stupid beanstalk by now. Maybe even skipping and singing songs of how great it was not to have to worry about mouthy blonde girls. She wished she knew songs about how great it was not to have to listen to handsome Irish pirates spit gross pickup lines. A part of her felt bad about how they had parted, but it was for the best. He was more trouble than he was worth, and he was dangerous to boot.

Emma wasn't going to go so far as to say she _missed_ him. That would be like missing a bad case of athlete's foot or feeling lonely after picking a leech off of you. It wasn't that she really missed him, she tried to tell herself. It's just that she didn't like being alone. Hook was a lot of things, but he was decent company. When he wasn't unconscious, hallucinating, or on a Crocodile warpath. She wasn't stupid enough to have deluded herself into thinking he actually cared about her, but he'd at least been interesting.

It didn't matter now. He was gone, and that was obviously for the best. For plenty of reasons, so many that it made it unnecessary to count. He was probably happy to be rid of her, as their partnership had never really panned out. She hadn't really given him anything, except fixing him up after he'd been wounded.

Besides, if he was here, he would be stuck in the Wraith's warpath just like she was. She didn't want to see the bastard hurt, so in the end it was good that he was probably miles away by now.

No, she'd done the right thing. She was better off this way, with nobody to rely on but herself. It was better this way; it hurt less when she failed herself.

She didn't get as far as she was hoping. She made it to the mountain and was going around it in a wide berth, but no luck on dried up lake beds. At some point, she had to give up on getting further, and focus on fortifying enough that she would survive the night. She collected wood for a fire, and then some. The sun sank incredibly fast, and Emma worried she might not even finish her preparations in time. Every minute seemed to fly by so quickly, and the world around her seemed to grow darker and darker by the minute. She managed to get her ring together before complete darkness, so she set to work on her arrows. Her hands gave away her nerves, shaking like she was coming down from a bad high (and sadly she knew this from experience), making the simple task of winding fabric around arrowheads needlessly difficult. She knew there was no willing the fear away. Her only reassurance was that the adrenaline would steady her hands when the time came.

As darkness fell and she could hear the shriek of the creature in the difference, she closed her eyes and thought of her family. Her little Henry, who was so mature and yet such a baby still all at once. Mary Margaret, who had managed to feel like family even before the curse was broken, even despite Emma pushing her away any time she got the chance. Even David, in the short time they had before she had fallen though the hat, who had looked at her with pride and adoration, even though she's a little worried she doesn't deserve either. She couldn't fail, she couldn't. She had to make it back to them; otherwise they would never know much she loved them and how happy she was to finally have a family.

She was tired of fighting alone. She was tired of _being _alone, of keeping everyone at arm's length because she was afraid of what might happen if they got close enough for her to really care about them. She couldn't fail; she had to make it back so she could tell them that, that she was ready to let them in. She was scared, but a little fear had never stopped Emma Swan from anything.

As darkness fell, she rose; lighting her ring of fire as quickly as she could manage. It burned brighter than she had even expected. A flicker of confidence went through her. For a ramshackle plan cooked up in less than five hours that was executed by a single cripple, this might work.

"Come and get me, you bastard," she muttered, stance strong and a little defiant. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

Despite the wraiths war cry, it certainly took its time getting to her. Realistically, she knows it wasn't that long. No more than five minutes between pure darkness and its arrival. Considering it must have been with Phil in the woods to mark him, it had made quite a trek in record time. Though, granted, she hasn't covered that much ground with a bad ankle. It must be nice to fly, she thinks.

Her heartbeat seems to outdo itself, trying to beat faster and faster the longer she has to wait. She considers running for a moment, but dismisses it. No, she has made her defenses and she will stick to them. She can't run that long and certainly not that fast.

Eventually, she can barely see the shadow of it moving in the distance. Her heart helpfully stops beating all together for a few beats. She ignores it, knowing it will come back sooner rather than later, and dips her arrow in the fire next to her with an odd sense of calm.

She cocks and misses with the first shot. It's thirty feet away, maybe more. By the time she fires the next shot, the wraith has closed in twenty feet in very few seconds. She remembers Graham's advice - aims, exhales, and fires. The creature shrieks, the arrow brushing against the robes it wears, setting a part of it ablaze. Graham would have been proud of that shot,she thinks, cocking another and aiming this one for the mangled excuse of a face.

It misses mostly, but the blaze catches what looks somewhat like hair, burning like kindling with the terrible smell of burning cartilage. Emma reaches for a stick of kindling from her fire, figuring the thing is close enough for her to hit with just a throw. She's not wrong, her toss connects right into it's hallow ribs, and a few seconds later the entire thing is a shrieking fireball.

A traitorous feeling of victory sneaks over her. She should have reached for more fire. The creature moves so suddenly, it knocks a gust of wind up. A mix of dust and air blows her ring out, as the little fucker spins round her circle of protection, a bright blur of flame as it takes her hopes with it. She tries to fire an arrow, but it is just moving to fast. Wherever it lands, she can't see far enough in the starlight to see.

After her ring of fire has been quite cruelly demolished, Emma finds herself standing, shocked, and unsure what she should try to do next. Emma is usually quite good under pressure. She thinks quickly and doesn't let fear or uncertainty paralyze her. But right now her mind is all nerves and fear and absolutely nothing productive. The wraith has completely put out her fire and started to wobble around in the dirt putting out its flames before she realizes she really should do something.

Emma thinks maybe this is it, time to take a stand, even if she has no way to really hurt the fucking thing, when a sudden shout surprises her.

"Swan! What the bloody hell are you doing? Run!" She knows that voice, it's Hook, but she can't see him in the pitch darkness. Her gut reaction to Hook telling her what to do is as usual, to refuse, but he probably has a point there. Running is probably a really good idea right about now. And yet she still lingers. She can't just leave Hook behind with the wraith. The wraith won't kill Hook before it can get her, she's pretty confident in that. She's the one marked. But it could hurt him, if he tries to make some stupid valiant stand. And if he's going to do that, they might as well do it together.

She can't believe that stupid pirate motherfucker has been following her. She is annoyed about this fact even though she should really be spending her time running or attacking a wraith or at least doing _something _that was more productive than swearing at pirates in her head.

"_Run_, Swan!" Hook presses, and he sounds closer this time, even though she still can't see him in the darkness. Emma finally comes back to herself and remembers that yes, she has a life she'd like to keep, so standing right by the monster who intends to kill her, which is quickly setting itself out, is not a great plan. She turns heel and runs, as fast as she can manage, ignoring how much it hurts.

As tempted as she is to look back, she doesn't. She hears a strange sound from behind her and then the sound of the wraith screeching, but beyond that she really can't tell what's happening behind her. She tries to ignore the panic welling in her chest that she just abandoned Hook to get his ass kicked, and for really no reason. It's not like he can beat the wraith, and it's not like she can run fast enough or far enough to really get away from it. It's a terrible, desperate, frightening run, because she knows all through it how pointless it really is.

She doesn't run more than a minute before she can hear the screech behind her. The sound of it coming after her is odd. She wonders if it is what a jet sounds like, rushing so quickly through the air. The air gusts over her before it even reaches her. She fumbles, turning with the knife Hook gave her, to see what little damage she can do, but it's too little too late.

The wraith knocks her over with a terrifying cry. It's deafening, but that's really the least of her problems. It sends her flying, face first. Despite her hard landing, she turns onto her back to try and defend herself. The wraith has crept up on her so quickly it seems like she blinks and it was hovering over top of her. She swings with her knife, but the wraith simply knocks the blade away like it's some sort of pest. Emma would have tried to kick it, just to keep fighting, but the wraith extends its bony fingers over her face. She tries to knock the hand away, but finds she can't.

Her small and relatively human hand on top of the bony leathery one is a very strange image, and the wraith is very cold. It takes her a moment to realize that she can't move because she's already lost, and the wraith is draining her soul from her body. She can actually see it, really, little parts of her being sucked out and floating through the air and into the wraith. It's oddly beautiful, even though her heart pounds and she's fucking terrified. It's an incredibly strange sensation, having the life slowly dragged out of her.

It bothers her that she can't fight back. Something about the wraith, whatever it's doing, is keeping her from moving at all. Emma is used to fighting, not laying back and taking it. She can hear shouting, and realizes rather numbly that it's Hook. She can't really understand what he's saying or even why he's still there. Doesn't he know that he'll be the wraith's next target if he doesn't get out of here?

Her eyes roll back into her head, and it seems like her torso is rising off the ground, like it is somehow lighter without her soul weighing it down. Or maybe the pull of her soul coming out is strong enough to pull her physically as well. Her vision goes blurry and her heartbeat is suddenly pounding in her ears, so loud she can't hear anything.

She can't do much now but think. She thinks of Henry, and her heart breaks a little that she won't get to see him again. That he'll never really know how much she loved him, and that she'll never be able to make up for her many mistakes. She hopes he doesn't miss her too badly. She wouldn't want that. It's a sad thought, but maybe it would be better if he forgot her. She hasn't done anything good for that kid since she gave him away. She closes her eyes, knowing the fight is over.

And then, suddenly, she remembers that's a load of shit.

She's not going to sit here feeling sorry for herself if she's going to die. She's not perfect, but she thinks Henry knows how much she loves him. She made mistakes, but she knows that the good has overcome the bad. She could only imagine how his life would be now if she'd walked right out of it again given the chance. She's not going to give up, not when he is out their waiting for her. A strange burn starts, at her heart at first.

Emma thinks of Mary Margaret, who would want her to fight. Mary Margaret might be the strongest person she knows. Wouldn't Mary fight this? Mary and David too. Despite their past with Regina and the bad blood between them, they hadn't hesitated to fight the wraith to try and help her. They were her parents, even if the concept was still rather frightening. They loved her, had loved her enough to send her away from the curse, thinking it would give her a better life. She has spent so long convinced that nobody could possibly love her since what happened with Neal, that she almost hadn't known how to react to her parents after the curse was broken. She'd pushed them away, and held them at arm's length, because it was simply easier to fall back on what she knew. People actually caring about her was scary, but allowing herself care about them back was even scar

But Emma Swan was not a woman that allowed herself to be ruled by her fear. She was aware of it, yes, but it didn't control her. She wasn't going to let herself be so weak that she couldn't be accepting of love

They loved her, Henry loved her. There was a family waiting for her in Storybrooke. She just had to find her way back to them, and there's no way that's going to happen with this wraith sucking out her soul. The burn has gotten more intense, to the point it's almost rather painful. She thinks it might possibly be the wraith, but somehow it feels different. She isn't feeling weaker, suddenly. She's feeling… stronger?

The burn moves from her heart and starts shooting through her veins, so quickly and so roaringly powerful it hurts unbearably. The wraith's icy hand moves forward to actually touch her skin, and she feels how bitterly cold its palm is as its fingers press against the skin over her still pounding heart.

There are too many sensations, and they're all too powerful to experience at once. Emma opens her eyes and her vision goes white.


	13. Chapter 13

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Killian Jones had better things to do with his time than follow Emma Swan. That was most certainly a fact that he liked to think was irrefutable. It was fair to say that post curse the Enchanted Forest was lacking in interesting things to do. But despite that fact, he was sure there was _something_ that would have been more productive than following Emma Swan about like a scorned puppy.

And yet, here he was. Following her about. Like a scorned puppy.

He wasn't sure he wanted to reckon with all the reasons why he was following her. He was rather sour about how she had sent him away like a leper the second she had found a more favorable party. Yes, he could admit that. Even though he acknowledged it was probably a good call on her part, considering how troubled their partnership had been thus far.

In fact, he wasn't sure what about their partnership he found so compelling that had brought on this need to follow her. Their time together had been very, very short. Mere drops in the ocean of his lifetime, really. And yet, strangely, he found himself rather drawn to her, in a way he had not been in an extremely long time.

Truth be told he was not sure what it was about Swan he liked. Liking someone as opposed to just something was a very strange occurrence for him at this point in his miserable existence. Killian Jones liked rum. Killian Jones liked his ship. Killian Jones liked the sea. Killian Jones liked sex. Actually tying that sort of emotion to a person was rather chaffing for him at this point. He hadn't more than tolerated anyone since he'd signed the death sentence for Milah's boy back in Neverland. It was easier not to care. Caring brought about problematic emotions like sympathy, guilt, and regret.

If Hook took time to entertain all the sympathy, guilt, and regret he ought to have felt for every person he had met throughout his very long life, he would not be able to function in the slightest. So much like snuffing a candle, he'd simply turned it off. Feeling was an awful thing when all you felt was the bitter sting of hatred and the crippling heartbreak of loss. All Jones had left now was the darkness of hatred and the grief of losing Milah. It was simply easier not to feel the emotions that came with compassion. If he did he wouldn't be able to function, and he rather needed to function if he intended to make good on his aims to avenge his love.

The idea that he felt any sort of anything for Emma Swan, especially in the short time he had known her, was incredibly uncomfortable. He is not sure when it had happened but he finds it quite difficult to ignore, which is a rather frustrating state of being for a man like him. So he tries to convince himself that he only wants to bed her.

And that in and of itself is not untrue. He _would_ like to bed Emma Swan. Despite the rather hideous glower she liked to throw his way, she was quite a beautiful woman. Her odd clothing had especially accented her body, and he had decided early on in their limited partnership that he greatly enjoyed her modern attire. Her chest was a tad on the small side but the curves she did have were like secrets begging to be found. The girl was aware he wanted her and teased him with the idea, sometimes intentionally. Other times perhaps accidentally.

Especially considering the oddest things seemed to draw his attention. Like when she pulled her fingers through her golden hair. He would not say no to any woman, given the opportunity. However, it was safe to say he preferred redheads, because brunettes brought up memories he'd rather not remember and blondes were… well, simply not his taste. Like a matter of liking his rum over whiskey. And yet, oddly enough, he found himself incredibly drawn to that messy golden mane of Swan's.

It was a strange thing to like, considering Swan had an enjoyable body and certainly a beautiful face. But he enjoyed her hair _especially._ It was wild and uncontrolled at best, but it looked like spun gold. It was curly and feral and quite beautiful. It had even felt quite nice, as he'd rooted through it for pins. It went to serve that Swan wouldn't have pins in her hair. She seemed wholly unwilling to be helpful; it would only serve that her hair would be the same way.

Even beyond her hair, he enjoyed those rather piercing green eyes. They were bizarrely alert, almost all the time. In that she rather reminded him of a wild animal, always wary of the next attack. Despite that, she seemed to see through things almost magically. The girl was smarter than he would have guessed looking at her. Her eyes were magnetic, especially the moments she left them unguarded and he could actually read what she was thinking through them. Emma Swan was guarded by many walls and the rare times he saw around them were the times he liked her the most.

Yes, he wanted her. There was no crime in that. He'd wanted and had many a woman in his lifetime, which hardly made Swan special. Granted he had jumped into bed at the prospect of sleeping with her. Perhaps that had been his mistake – letting Swan see how much he wanted her.

Because she had used it as bait and closed him in a steel trap. His fingers still recalled the curve of her body, which is all he really got to experience before she shackled him. The fact that she had managed to trick him was infuriating, certainly. She hadn't even had to do anything to convince him. He'd been surprised, yes, but had he not leapt into that bed just the same? He was not bested often, so infrequently that he only needed one hand to count every instance. It irked him that he had to add Emma Swan to that roster, especially considering her thinking was massively impaired by a head injury at the time.

Irked him, and oddly enough, drew him to her more.

Perhaps that was what was drawing him back. Swan was not only beautiful, but she was smart. She had a quick mind and a quick wit and was not afraid to use either of them. She was rather unlike any lady he'd run across in a very long time. Despite her lack of knowledge of the forest she managed to surprise him at every turn. Tricking him into captivity with the slightest of effort, managing to bring wild rabbit back at what had to have been her first attempt at hunting, even managing to subdue a man quite intent on stealing her away. She was sharp, and surprisingly capable, though she was rather small and could be mistaken for delicate if one was not careful.

Though Emma seemed quick to diminish any ideas that she was delicate. The way she refused help even injured was bloody strange, as far as he was concerned. But at the same time, he found her independence and willful stubborn nature intriguing. Like all children left to raise themselves, she had learned to provide and take care of herself. It drew him to her rather despite himself, because he too had once been a child forced to carve his own way in a world that hadn't wanted him. It was something that touched a person, changed them, and it was also something one could read in others who had experienced something similar. He could see it on Emma Swan before she had even told him her name, she was a lost soul, been abandoned and had been forced to learn to fend for herself.

Even all of this, however, was no excuse for why he was following her. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, she had bested him, and she intrigued him. What did that really mean? She should be of no importance to a man who had only one goal in life. That Swan had managed to splinter through and actually affect him was equal parts aggravating and terrifying. He might have been able to walk away from her, force himself to forget her, entertain himself with other things.

If only she had not stayed with him after being shot.

If Swan had been shot, he has no doubt that he would not have stuck around to help her. It is an ugly thing to admit, but Emma Swan is not reason enough for him to risk his life. She was just a girl he barely knew. If he were to get killed trying to foolishly rescue her then all his efforts would have been in vain, his purpose mute and Milah's death would forever go unanswered. In fact, nothing Swan had done had surprised him more than sticking around after he'd been shot.

That she moved to his side and even showed some concern for his well being was hard to believe. He was wary of it, and how could he not be? There were not many people in his life that had cared about him. Milah was one of the only few, and probably the last. That Swan had been willing to risk her own life to drag him to safety was still a hard fact to swallow, and he'd been present for it. She had promised him that she wouldn't leave, but he hadn't believed it then and he still finds it hard to fathom that she remained by his side, even after the fact.

Even after warning her about the poison and instructing her to leave, she still didn't. And for the life of him he cannot figure out why.

Swan was not so different from him, really. She was out for self-preservation and keeping the world at large at arm's length. When the time came to choose between her life and that of someone else's, he'd assumed that she would have reacted the same as him, to save her own skin, damn the consequences. But he was wrong, incredibly wrong, and the fact that he'd read her so inaccurately was truly something mind-numbing. He can't understand why she would _stay_, no matter how hard he thinks about it.

The fact that she stayed leaves him conflicted. What he did to her under the effects of the poison … well, the uncomfortable feeling that has been circling him ever since could be nothing other than guilt. It's a feeling he doesn't enjoy and does not especially want to be feeling. But the more he tries to ignore it the more desperately it presents itself. He wants to resent her for being there to see him at his weakest but he knows that resentment is only an attempt to ease his guilt. As much as he hates that Swan saw him at his weakest and that she probably heard more than he would like her to have heard, he hates himself more for hurting her. He knows that he had his hand through her heart, and furthermore he knows his inability to take it only ended up hurting her more.

Hurting Emma Swan shouldn't bother him. But it does. It has been eating away at him like a worm in an apple, and that is quite a nuisance for a man like him.

So he follows her. She doesn't want him near and yet despite all the better things he could and should have been doing, he finds he can't leave. He watches her from afar, out of sight and likely out of mind. He hoped to at least be sure that Swan would be safe with the new party she has found. Yet instead of staying with them, she splits apart, apparently on quite sour terms considering her farewell to the boy. He's certainly not _jealous_ but he is glad to see the boy running from Swan's wrath. The picture of them alone together was simply aggravating. The boy was hardly old enough to have wine at the table; he probably had just graduated off his wooden sword.

Swan limps off on her own, and he follows. He isn't sure how long he intends to follow. He's not quite _content_ to follow her from afar. He's aware of the fact he'd rather be near her, because she interests him, despite the complications. But she was quite clear what she wanted and he stays away, though watching her limp about bothers him. He should have been alert enough to stop that brute from getting her. The stupid girl should have a walking stick, or even more she should spend some time resting. She'll only aggravate her problem walking on it. Yet stubborn Swan walked on, and he followed.

As the day began to close, he truly considered leaving. Swan had what she wanted – her freedom. She wanted to part ways with him and really, who was he to deny her that? Things between them had soured too quickly, she knew too much about who he really was. She had been right to send him away. It burned, hot sharp and rather misplaced anger, but Swan was smart. She knew that nothing good could come from being near him. She'd already experienced the truth of that. So she had sent him away, and away he ought to have stayed.

And still he didn't.

The second he heard that wraith, his first move should have been to get as far away as physically possible. Self preservation was something he took very seriously. If he died, Milah would never have her justice. He had left people behind in his many years, but it had been necessary. Living was his unfortunate curse until he saw his vengeance. Discretion was not truly the better part of valor, and he hated to be craven. Yet as much as he hated it, craven he was, because as he saw it he didn't have any other choice. He had lived a very long time, and that was not through foolish attempts at heroism for any pretty girl he happened across. He was not immortal, and he was certainly not invincible either.

And yet, at that blood curdling screech, instead of moving as far away as his legs would allow, he instead found himself moving fast as he could manage toward danger.

_What the hell am I bloody doing? _He asked himself, and wish he had a clear answer. He wished he hadn't the time to consider and over-think why exactly he was being so daft, but unfortunately he was a ways a way from Swan. His spyglass gave him exceptional range when he wanted to lurk. There wasn't even a chance he'd reach her sooner than eight, maybe seven minutes. And if the screaming of the wraith was any indication, it was a lot closer than that.

He didn't have any reason to risk his life for sullen Swan. Certainly not. What had she really done for him, besides help him when he'd been shot (despite his telling her not to)? Nothing, really. She hadn't even provided him with any information that was remotely helpful. She had been incredibly useless. How was she worth the risk? He had no means of stopping a wraith. If anything, he was going to get himself killed along with her. This grandeur show was pointless and highly unnecessary.

And yet, here he was. Still running.

He gave Swan a shout but she either didn't hear or didn't bother to answer. He could see the swath of black cloth in the distance. The bugger moved awful fast, he thought, and the thing went swooping in towards Swan faster than he could blink.

He had to say he hadn't given the girl enough credit. She fought more than he had expected her to. She nailed the beast with one, maybe two arrows. She even threw a log at the wraith for good measure. The creature was a wailing, writhing ball of flame. He was impressed, he had to say. That had to be enough to send the creature off to recuperate. He was not an expert when it came to wraiths but he had to think even the strongest of magical creatures couldn't handle that much fire without a wee break.

Unfortunately, Hook seemed to be a little off on that estimate. He was nearly there by the time the creature set about snuffing every bit of fire Swan had started with unbelievable efficiency. He was closer now, and he could barely see the girl in the dim light. The expression on her face was rightly terrified, and yet she was stopped in her tracks, pinned to the spot.

"Swan! What the bloody hell are you doing? Run!" The girl startles at his voice, though she doesn't manage to spot him in the dark. She doesn't say anything, only stares at the wraith as it determinedly doused its flames. Her hair seems to glow especially bright in the dying fires cast off the wraith. Finally level with the beast, he repeats, "_Run_, Swan!" The spell on the girl is broken, though he notes a moment of hesitation before she turns and runs.

It was a strange thing, watching the creature wreathe in the dirt like a pig. But wreathe it did, and the flames were steadily disappearing. He had little to nothing that would really harm the thing. But hopefully, the mouthful of blunderbuss he gave the thing would at least hurt.

The wraith shrieked, and he had clearly hit home with his shot. It was the only one he managed to make, though, as the creature began swinging at him wildly. He dodged the first couple, but on the third the wraith hit him with a sickeningly cold arm and sent him flying. It was enough to make him see stars, but he knows it wasn't distracted nearly long enough.

By the time he is on his feet again, the wraith is gone, hot on Emma's pursuit. His feet don't seem to carry him fast enough, though he knows full well that he's no more capable of really helping her now than he was before. Just another woman he's failed, another woman undeserving of death that he wasn't strong enough to save. He's nearly there but it's too late, the wraith has her. Swan wings a blade at it but there's no stopping it now that it's that close.

"Swan!" He yells, but there's not a bloody thing he can do now. He takes out his blade, moving forward. He's not sure what is there to stab but he's going to give it a fair shot. He's only seen one bloke lose a fight with a wraith and he doesn't want to see Swan as an empty husk, the very essence of her ripped away. He's nearly close enough to stab the thing when Swan's eyes open.

And then he can't see anything, because everything is blindingly white.

The light burns so brightly he can't see for at least ten seconds. He blinks, and it's like Swan is a fucking sun, glowing so brightly he's quite sure that the wraith knocked him under with that toss and he must be dreaming it. The wraith screams, but not one of victory, one of _pain_. And suddenly, the light shoots out, like a wall. The blast of it is enough to knock him off his feet, his blade flying from his hand to god knows where.

When his eyes recover from that blast of bright light, the only light that remains is from the moon. It glints off the golden dust that was once a wraith as it hangs in the air, like a chicken that hasn't yet noticed it lost a head. And then it drops like a sheet, before most of it blows away in a sudden gust of wind.

He knows magic when he sees it, and he isn't sure how to react. He can't even comprehend what happened at first. Had he really just witnessed that? Emma Swan, who never bothered to mention she had magic in the slightest, just _disintegrated_ a wraith? He's never heard of the like. As far as he was aware, the mark of a wraith was a death sentence. They could not be killed, could not be stopped, could not be destroyed. This made the fact he'd been running off to fight one even more idiotic and confusing.

However, for all her magical blasts, Swan doesn't seem to be moving. The wraith was dead, wasn't it? How could she fight back and it still be too late?

He stumbled to her side, having been stunned for far too long. And yet, he finds himself wary to actually touch her. He can't decide why. Maybe it's because he doesn't want her to mistake him for another enemy. Maybe because he's quite certain Swan wouldn't have wanted him touching her. Maybe it's because he's scared she's dead. But she doesn't look dead, in fact… it almost looks like she's sleeping. Out like a light, though now he can see the steady rise and fall of her chest. Almost hypnotized, he presses his palm to feel her heartbeat, oddly reassured by its steady rhythm. _She isn't dead. Bloody hell. Magic like that should be able to kill someone, and the lass looks like she's just catching up on her beauty rest. _

He considers that he could get out of here before she wakes. She will know that he's been following her, and he doubts she'll appreciate the gesture. Not to mention he's suddenly a lot more wary of Swan than he was before. She'd given him no implication she had magic, and certainly not magic strong enough to turn a wraith into golden dust. He doesn't want her to blow him away just because he's finally annoyed her too much.

But that kind of magic is powerful. He always finds himself sidling up to the best possible ally, and all of a sudden Swan is a much more desirable partner.

He is wary, not sure what he should do next, and hesitation is not something he indulges in terribly often. He doesn't want to make the wrong choice and there are so many ways to make the wrong decision here. Or perhaps he's still just too stunned to do much of anything, still hypnotized by the steady heartbeat under his palm and the rather shocking revelation that Swan is still alive.

In the end, she makes the decision for him, as he sees her eyelids start to flutter. She looks at him under her lashes, in a rather charming state of bleary unawareness. It almost seems like she's just woken up from an afternoon nap, and still hasn't shaken off the fuzzy feeling of sleep. He notes that she doesn't automatically push him away, which she has the last couple times he's caught her in this state.

"Not you again," She mutters, a hand moving to rest on top of his, over her heart. She probably would have pushed him off of her if she had the energy for movement.

"Sorry to disappoint you, love," He says, and her eyes shutter closed again, as if just keeping them open is too exhausting for her at this point.

"Did you kill that wraith?" She asks blearily, and the question throws him. How was she not aware of the fact that she had blasted the wraith to kingdom come? He should think that would be something he wouldn't forget. He doesn't know how to answer her just yet, so he decides not answering might just be easier.

"You bloody scared me, Swan. You're quite the scamp but did you really have to pick a fight with a wraith?" He asks her, hoping a little ribbing will bring her back to him. He's quite certain she's fading on him again, and he hopes it's just into exhaustion and not something worse. However, she doesn't answer, and she closes her eyes again, fingers slipping away from his as exhaustion takes her.

He isn't sure what to make of this Emma Swan anymore, but she is certainly more than he was expecting.

They are blanketed in darkness again, with only the light from the moon and stars reaching them now. But he vaguely knows the area. He's had twenty eight years to explore the Enchanted Forest, and it has served him some to remember where everything is. They're not quite to the dried out bed of Lake Nostros, but they're quite close. He can recall a cabin of sorts not far from here. He knows full well how Swan hates to be coddled but he has to guess that when she's passed out like this she'll have a harder time objecting.

He can carry her that far, he thinks. She dragged him farther. The little lass could do with a bed to sleep in. And he will figure out what to do with her before she wakes. She has a lot of power in her, something he is wise to be wary of. If she isn't aware of it it's all the more dangerous. Magic is deadly when it is controlled, he can only imagine the chaos the girl might cause with magic she hasn't even been taught to use.

Then again, the magic she used… it was like nothing he's ever seen before. And he's lived many years and seen more magic than he would like to say, considering how much he despises the stuff. It was like she wielded light instead of darkness. He's never heard of light magic, only the evils and perils of the dark. The fae used their dust, and though their magic was not evil per se, it wasn't necessary light or always good, either.

He only can think of one person who might know more about the subject, but he knows the old bat isn't going to give him the information for free. Or likely at all, considering she's sent men off to collect the girl at any cost. No, Cora would not be happy if she knew that he'd been helping Swan, or even been near her. If the Queen of Hearts puzzled that one out, they might have an even bigger problem on their hands.

Gingerly lifting Swan with an arm under her knees and around her shoulders, he settled her against his chest. He's sure she would have tried to claw his eyes out if she'd been conscious enough to protest. Or at least, he assumed so. Instead, she surprises him by leaning into his shoulder, and moving weak arms around his neck to make the venture easier.

"Don't drop me, you damn pirate," She mutters, and he can feel himself grinning despite himself.

"Oy, princess, I won't," He promises, tightening his grip even though his charge doesn't seem to notice. "I won't."


	14. Chapter 14

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Emma feels like she needs about a hundred more years of sleep when she finally drags her eyes open. What is it about the Enchanted Forest that she can't get a proper night of rest? The last time she slept well was when she'd shackled Hook to her wrist. And that hardly sounds conducive to sleeping. Maybe it was the bed that had really done it. The head injury had probably helped her sleep, too. It certainly wasn't the warm body beside her.

Though, it doesn't take much in her vague-awareness to know she's in a bed now, and still feels exhausted. Emma forces herself up onto her elbows, squints about the room. It's rather bright, unfortunately. Daylight beams into the room creating what might be a pleasant atmosphere if she were not so exhausted. Leaning on one elbow she uses her other hand to rub the sleep from her eyes, as her brain slowly kicks into motion.

_How the hell did I get here?_

Things grew rather fuzzy when she tried to think back to what had happened the night before. She knew the wraith had attacked. She'd been quite certain it had gotten her too. Struggling to sit up she pushes down the fabric of her tunic. An audible gasp leaving her mouth at the marks that greet her, dark purple bruises in the shape of a ghastly, bony hand stretch across the skin over her heart. The wraith … she can remember had pressed against her chest, right there, as it tried to suck her soul out of her. Is she… dead? Was this some weird demented afterlife? Emma isn't even sure she believes in the afterlife. Her foggy brain rejects the bizarre notion that she's a ghost though before she can really entertain it.

No, she's alive, she has to be.

She remembers bits and pieces of the fight. Almost winning but then the wraith coming back and dousing every last bit of her fire. And… Hook? It seems fuzzy, almost like it hadn't happened, but the more she thinks about it, the more certain she is. He was definitely there. She could distinctly remember him speaking to her.

_Don't drop me, you damn pirate._

_Oy, princess. I won't._

She's almost ashamed of herself, that she'd been so out of it that she let Hook carry her. And bridal fucking style too. Though, if there's any excuse to be made for letting the pirate carry her in such a shameful way, she had it. Especially since the wraith had been dead set on sucking out her soul. She still doesn't know how Hook had managed to kill the fucking thing. No matter how hard she'd fought to get rid of it, it had still managed to overpower her.

It certainly annoys her that the pirate had been following her. She'd been quite clear when she'd told him to get lost. It only went to reason that he hadn't listened. Listening seemed to really be a struggle for him. He didn't listen to her most of the time, so she wasn't sure she'd been certain he'd left. The most grating thing was that she was probably going to have to admit she was wrong for sending him away. She'd needed him, rather desperately. And if he hadn't been stalking after her like a creep, she'd be dead by now and no one would be any the wiser.

He'd saved her, and as odd as that fact was to face, she couldn't deny it. She had never thought that Hook wanted to harm her, not really. But she also had never imagined that he was invested in her health one way or another, or that he'd lift one of his few fingers to assist it. Preserving his own skin seemed to be all that mattered. The fact of the matter was she didn't know why would he run into a fight with a wraith, putting his own life at risk, just to save her. It competed with almost every idea of him she'd built in her head. Knowing people and what motivated them and how they would react under pressure had been a part of her job for five years and she was fucking good at it. And the pirate from Peter Pan was going to be her downfall? No way.

Instead of just accepting the idea Hook had wanted to help her, she tried to figure out what motivation he would have had for doing it. He wanted something, probably. But she had no more to offer him now than she had when he'd left. She rubbed a temple wearily, before allowing herself to flop backwards onto the bed again.

Speaking of the pirate… He was nowhere to be seen. The room she was in was surprisingly well kept. The bedding seemed clean and not dusty. The room was bright and cheerful. It seemed more like a bed and breakfast than a small cabin in a world that was not her own. There set out on the table next her were her pistol, the knife Hook had given her, and her bottle of aspirin. She reaches for the gun, opening up the camber only to note that he has returned the bullets. He's given her back everything that he had stolen from her.

She tries to ignore the sinking disappointment that hits her as the fact the pirate wasn't there. After all, she'd sent him away, so she had no business being annoyed he didn't stick around a second time. Maybe his heroic gesture really had been to even the scales. She'd helped him with his arrow wound; he'd… killed a wraith. Okay, so it didn't seem super even, killing a wraith was a lot more labor intensive than fixing up an arrow wound. Yeah, sure he'd spent a little time fishing around in her chest cavity but hey, she was fine now, wasn't she?

They were even now in her book and back to as she had wanted it, each of them on their separate paths, operating towards their own agendas. There was no way he was coming back this time; of that fact she was absolutely certain. She couldn't have read him _that_ wrong. She isn't sad about it, she tells herself. She might have liked to thank the douche bag before he gallivanted off to from whence he'd came, but he was gone and that was that. She literally couldn't comprehend any other solution.

Though Emma contemplated trying to sleep more, now that her mind was running it seemed uninterested in shutting back off. Dragging herself into a sitting position and throwing her legs over the bed, first thing was first – she needed to take a stock of her injuries.

She could see her green cloak hanging on the door, but the rest of her clothes were on, right down to her boots. Just as well, she didn't need Hook or anyone else undressing her while she was unconscious. Emma reached down to pick at her laces, before easing her boots off. With the leggings on, it wasn't going to be easy to take a look at her bad ankle. She easily could have just rolled them up, but instead she rose onto shaky feet and removed them entirely, before dropping back onto the bed with a pointed lack of grace.

Emma set her bad leg on the bed with her to inspect, leaving the other on the ground. Her ankle appeared darker in color than it had been the last time she saw it, but she had been running around on it despite Mulan's warnings. Not that she'd had a whole lot of choice in the matter. She winced looking at it, though the pain had surprisingly seemed to have lessened. All things considered, she wasn't that sore at all. Except for her chest, it was ached with a numb chill, especially over her heart.

Emma didn't have a lot of shame about being naked even in the best of circumstances, and she's alone so she doesn't hesitate to start plucking at the buttons of her tunic, before pulling the fabric over her head and tossing it to join her leggings. She's left in her underwear and a tank top. She's left herself pretty exposed but she has her gun and a knife if someone happens to wander into the room, and she hasn't even heard the slightest of noises outside so she doubts anyone will be happening upon her anyway.

The bruises seem to look even more ghastly then imagined now that they are uncovered. When she touches the mark, it is even still so cold to the touch it causes her to shiver. She hopes the mark will fade eventually; she doesn't need constant reminder of how close she was to losing her life to that wraith due to her own stupidity. She spreads her hand across the handprint, even though it's far larger than her own hand, but the warmth of it does nothing to counteract the chill her brush with death has left behind. She exhales slowly. Other than those two, she doesn't think she has other injuries to worry about.

Emma glances about the room again, wondering where the pirate might have stowed her bag, if it was even there at all. It may have been abandoned where she was attacked; it's possible she'll have to backtrack for it. If she can even figure out what direction that would be. It would be especially annoying, as she wanted to wrap her ankle before she walked on it again, but if she had to go without, she would. She looks around the place anyway, though, maybe she could find something to use as an alternative. Her good leg is a little shaky as she tries to stand on it, keeping her weight off of her bum one. She can probably bounce around the room, even if it'll look a little silly, no one will see—

"For fuck's sake, Swan. Would you sit down?" Sound from silence startles her; Emma gives a sharp gasp, hand moving to the mark on her chest. She nearly loses her balance trying to recover from the surprise of his voice.

She hates her heart for hammering so wildly at the appearance of the pirate in the doorway. Her mind is still sluggish but she'd been so certain she wouldn't be seeing him again. Not being able to get a proper read on him is going to drive her crazy. He doesn't give a shit about her, and he's just opportunistic, that Hook she could understand. Heck, she could even buy the reasoning that he felt obligated to help her after she'd helped him. But him still being here when he had no reason to be … it didn't compute. And if she focused much more on it, her head was going to explode.

Right. Think about it later. Sometime when she wasn't struggling to balance on one foot for the sake of an injury on the other.

"Fuck yourself, Hook, you scared me," She chastises instantly, a quick retort considering all the thoughts that refused to stop whirling through her head. His dark blue eyes don't look even remotely repentant, and he saunters into the room and drops her bag on the table with her abandoned clothing.

Oh shit, her clothing.

Emma was not a girl that blushed easily. Despite the fact she was a little embarrassed, she refused to be ashamed. So what, she's not wearing that much clothing. It's not like Hook hasn't seen a half-naked woman before. She tells herself she is _not_ obeying him – it's just that she's choosing to sit, is all. She drops onto the bed again, trying to calculate her next move. As much as she wants to start spitting questions, she probably should see to her injury first. Her bag has bandages in it, so if she can get the pirate to give it to her, she can wrap her ankle.

Her brow furrows slightly as she watches him dig through the bag, procuring the bandages. Well, he at least was good at reading her mind. She reaches out for them, but he gives her a bored expression. He breezes over to the bed and sits down on the opposite side. Emma has kept both of her legs hanging over the edge, so she's not especially close to him.

"Come on, then. You're not the only one who gets to play nurse." Hook says, before looking at her expectantly.

"I don't need to _play_ nurse, I need to wrap my ankle," Emma corrects. Hook looks uninterested. "You only have one hand; it'd be easier to just do it myself." Hook rolls his eyes this time, which is a look Emma hopes is more attractive on her, because it's certainly not a good look on him. Smug bastard.

"Any time, Swan. We've all day if you'd like to contemplate it further." Emma frowns at him, frustrated. She's more than capable of wrapping her own ankle. She surprises herself as she turns toward him, gingerly lifting her bum ankle and setting it on his expectant lap.

"If you stab me, I get that bottle of rum you've got squirreled away on you," She demands. The rough feeling of his fingers tracing across her skin sets her nerves screaming as his fingers run down her calf. She's never been happier that she waxes, though she's not even sure Hook is used to women with shaven legs. Was that a thing in the Enchanted Forest? Somehow, imagining all the Disney Princesses with hairy legs under their elegant dresses is really disconcerting.

"What do I get if I _don't_ stab you, lass?" His voice filled with wonder, and he's looking at her with such a blank expression that she hasn't the slightest idea what he could want. Her eyebrows drop as she considers it. He's not going to ask for a kiss, or a blowjob, or something overtly sexual, is he? She doesn't know what to make of Hook when he's not being a gross sleaze ball. It's too confusing, brings up too many questions.

"If you don't stab me, I still get it," Emma tries, and it's worth a shot, isn't it? Hook chuckles at her, but seems to drop the subject of impaling her with his hook, instead moving his focus to wrapping her ankle. He moves slowly, but efficiently.

Hook was surprisingly deft with wrapping ankles, which she finds surprising. Emma had a bad habit of assuming that just because he had one hand, he'd be clumsy when it came to tasks that could have used a second. He moved with surprising fluidity. If he wasn't shitting her when he claimed to be three centuries old, maybe that explained it. He had a lot of practice getting things done one handed.

Her ankle wasn't as sore as she thought it should be. Considering the color of the bruise, anyway. She wondered what exactly was numbing the pain. Mulan had been quite clear that the herbal remedy she had provided would last 8-12 hours. Emma hadn't had another dose since noon the precious day. She doubted that Hook would have stuffed her Advil down her unconscious throat - it had been sitting in reach so she could take some without getting up. Which was surprisingly thoughtful. At any rate, its proximity probably meant he thought she'd need to take some. But besides when the pirate touched the rather inflamed bruise, she could hardly feel it at all.

Was that a side effect of the wraith? Seemed pretty strange, lose some soul and the feeling in your ankles went in solidarity. It certainly wasn't like she was numb everywhere. In fact, the idle brushes of the pirate's fingers on her calf sent electric sparks darting up her spine. Besides her ankle it seemed like every nerve she had was singing, and the sensation of being touched felt especially good.

The effect only seemed to intensify every time Hook's fingers grazed her skin. She didn't really want to let her mind go there, but it certainly felt like arousal. Kind of odd and a little foreign, but maybe because it had been awhile? Nope, she _definitely_ did not want to go there. She was not aroused because Hook was _not_ going to turn her on by occasionally brushing her bare leg. She was not that desperate, she refused to be. There was no way she was going there, just no way…

"Point your toes, darling," Hook's low timbre instructed. It would have been nice if his voice would snap her out of whatever was going on but it definitely didn't, it was making it worse. Why did he have to have an accent? Why did she have to _like_ accents?

"I'm not your darling," She said, though what should have been a snap was breathier then she would have liked. Good god. How long did it take him to wrap a fucking ankle? She would be done by now! She straightened her foot obligingly and he continued his pattern down her foot and back up again. Thankfully he didn't need to touch bare skin to do that.

It looked like a pretty good job, all things considered. Once he was done, she figured that it would just be easier for her to tie it. Before she could lean forward to do just that, though, the pirate's head dipped down toward her leg. Emma's hand twitched, possibly with the urge to push him away. She really wasn't sure what to expect by his fluid motion, but it certainly wasn't for the pirate to use his teeth as an alternative to his missing fingers. His dark eyes watched her intensely instead of the knot he was tying; she refused by sheer stubbornness to drop his gaze until he had finished and sat up again.

Ankle wrapped, Emma dropped her head back with a large exhale. Well, she'd managed to make it without jumping the limey bastard and/or moaning. And she was pretty sure that was a feat in self control.

She hadn't even realized that she needed her self control around Hook, when had that happened?

When she sat back up, her expression was schooled into one of extreme disinterest. "You did not just do that," She stated, shaking her head. "Fuck, Hook, I could have tied that."

"You'd be surprised by the things I can do with my mouth," Hook replied seamlessly. Emma rolled her eyes.

"God, you're such a prick," Emma sighed. The pirate leaned in and opened his mouth, probably to feed her a line _about_ his prick, so Emma took her newly-wrapped foot and placed it on the center of his chest to push him backwards. It should have hurt more than a tinge, but it didn't. "Don't even try it." She warned him.

The pirate gave a disappointed tsk. "Mm, darling, don't be so vanilla. There are so many things we could try." Emma narrowed her eyes, but at least when he was being a lecherous asshole, he was easier to understand. She pulled her legs back towards herself, before turning and setting her feet on the floor. She even goes so far as to distinctly move away from him, hoping that the distance will provide some much-needed clarity. She's not sure what exactly is wrong with her right now but the last thing she needs is to jump the pirate out of desperation.

For once, the pirate doesn't seem obligated to fill the silence. She kind of appreciates it. It gives her a moment to sort through her thoughts, and decide what she should do next. Emma stands and hops to the table to retrieve her tunic dress, because putting on more clothes couldn't be a _bad_ plan, her company and her rather unpredictable reaction to his proximity considered. She pulls it on and turns to sit on the table, and starts to do up the buttons.

"Wait," Hook's voice is sudden, and Emma nearly starts again.

"_What?_" She snaps, somehow managing to sound annoyed now that the pirate was out of her personal space. However, the pirate doesn't answer, rising to stand next to her. Well, goddamn it. He really needs to start reading hints, because she'd moved over here for a reason. His eyes are on the skin above her tank, and for a moment she's sure he's staring at her tits and considers smacking him. But his dark blue eyes are on something in particular.

His fingers reach out and graze against the mark the wraith left on her. Her breath hitches, and she prays he doesn't notice. His fingers manage to be warmer than hers had been, somehow. Emma isn't sure why she doesn't follow her gut reaction of shoving him to a proper distance. She doesn't like being touched, does she? Maybe he's just impressed by the bruise. It does look rather gnarly, unearthly even.

"I've never seen someone survive being attacked by a wraith before," His voice comes suddenly, fingers shifting upward as he presses his palm to her skin. She resists the urge to shiver. She isn't sure what game he's trying to play now, but she looks at him with a wary expression painted across her face. The mark is a painful reminder of her stupidity. Setting off alone had been a shit plan. Not that keeping up with Captain Hook was better, but at least it was something, he was something. She doesn't know if she's ready to admit that she was wrong, but facts are facts. Without his assistance, she would be dead. Or soulless. And neither is preferred.

As much as it grates her, she has to say it. "Thank you," She tells him, managing to keep the begrudging tone out of her voice.

"For what, exactly?" Hook wonders, not even looking at her face anymore. He's absolutely fascinated by the dark purple staining her skin. Despite how strange and clearly inappropriate it is to have him touch her there, she doesn't push him away. She's not as uncomfortable as she should be. She's not uncomfortable at all, actually. She places her hand on top of his, and this is enough to get him to look at her.

"For saving me. From the wraith." It was hard to admit that she needed him but she could at least thank him for saving her. Hopefully he wouldn't rub it in her face, but that was a fact and even she couldn't ignore it. He had managed to kill off a wraith, something that even Gold had insinuated was impossible. So why shouldn't she be grateful? She wasn't ready to die, and she'd more or less resigned to it and yet here she was, still breathing, heart still beating.

Hook's expression is oddly unreadable. He doesn't wear that mask often, and she finds she hates it when he does. She can tell there's something he's not saying or at least, trying to hide. But he's good at this game and the man has a mean poker face. She has no idea what he's keeping from her, and wrenching it out of him isn't likely. There is a long stretch of silence between them, before Hook suddenly pulls his hand away. She pauses, but in the end she starts back on her buttons.

"I wouldn't be thanking me just yet," The pirate says, tone verging on simpering. Emma frowns, distinctly not liking where that was going.

"And why not? You did me a favor. So… thanks." She finished her buttons, feeling a little better with the telling mark covered.

"That's just it, darling. I did you a favor. So now…" Emma frowned, a cold feeling clenching in her stomach. She was right to be wary. She had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he said next. "You owe me one. And love, I have just the favor in mind."


	15. Chapter 15

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

A favor. She owed him a favor? A part of her instantly rejected the idea. She didn't owe Hook shit. She didn't ask for his help, after all. He'd been following her, probably for some creepy reason she didn't want to think about, and now she owed him for a display of human decency? Not even, fuck that. Her spine straightened and her face was set in a defiant expression.

"No way. I don't owe you anything." She snapped, green eyes growing dark and volatile. She didn't even know what he wanted yet, but she could guess that it wasn't going to be anything good. Seemed like nothing to do with the pirate ever was.

"Oh, my dear, I'm afraid you do. You owe me your life, which is quite the thing to owe. There is nothing more valuable than a life." Hook reminded, pacing towards the door and idly throwing a glance out the window. That he didn't bother to maintain eye contact with her immediately irked her.

"No, I don't. We're even. I helped you with your wound, and you helped me with the wraith." Even she could see how the two events weren't _exactly_ even, but that didn't mean she was going to concede to owing Hook anything.

"Darling, you do tend to be forgetful. Probably all those bumps on the head," Hook drawled, tone instantly condescending. Emma nearly growled an actual, feral growl. She hated it when people insinuated she was incapable. Hook was lucky he was out of reach or she might have smacked that sneer off his face. "I saved you from the Hunter's net, when you first arrived, did I not? And I carried you off to that farm. We'll say you patching me up from the arrow make us even for that, if we're going to go on semantics. But I saved you from a Wraith, one that nearly sucked the life right out of you. I would say you owe me, and you owe me quite a lot."

Emma wanted to contest that, but the Pirate kind of had a point. He'd pulled her weight much more than she'd pulled his. It was a frustrating truth but since she arrived in the Enchanted Forest, it seemed that she'd spent a majority of her time injured and needing help. Emma hated to need things from others, to feel indebted. As much as she didn't want to consider the facts, they refused to be ignored. If she really thought about it, who knew where she would be if she hadn't run into Hook? Was it possible that she'd still be in that net? Maybe. Maybe the owner would have come around, but it was impossible to say if the owner of the net was friendly, or who else could have stumbled across her there. And if no one had come at all, she'd have starved to death, if her hairbrained plan of shooting her way out didn't work. Even beyond the net, Hook had given her some information in regards to finding her way home, and she hadn't given him anything for it. What did she really have to give?

No, he was probably right. Maybe she did owe him, sort of. But being forced with the facts was an irritating truth she didn't want to face, and her knee-jerk reaction was to refuse him. So what, he'd helped her. So he hadn't asked for anything in return, it wasn't like he could go back on it now and demand payment. That wasn't fair.

Oddly enough, Hook and his proposition reminded her of Gold. Mr. Gold and those creepy deals and one-sided agreements of his, she shuddered to herself simply remembering their interactions. She could tell that whatever favor the pirate wanted, it would likely serve him more than it would serve her. At least he wasn't giggling weirdly or calling her Dearie, or the impression would be uncanny.

"What do you want?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her. And before he could take that as compliance, she amended, "_Not_ that I owe you anything."

"It's quite simple, love. And honestly, it will serve you just as well as it will me." Emma highly doubted that anything Hook would purpose would serve them equally. Her skeptical expression said that quite clearly. She wasn't sure the pirate was capable of anything at all that would serve someone other than himself.

"Right, and they'll be having snow-angel contests in hell," she scoffed, crossing her arms. Hook paused at that, looking genuinely puzzled. Okay, so maybe that expression was little lost on him. Apparently 'when hell freezes over' wasn't a thing in the Enchanted Forest. He recovered quickly, though.

"Be that as it may, Swan, I don't see why you're so resistant. You don't even know what I want from you yet." She didn't have to know exactly what he wanted to know that it probably wasn't going to be anything good, but maybe he had a point. She sighed, trying to soften her posture. The least she could do was hear him out, right?

"Probably because you're taking your sweet ass time in telling me," Emma pointed out. The pirate gave her a dry chuckle.

"It's quite simple, Swan. You and me? We are partners, until we make it to the Land Without Magic." She didn't even open her mouth to add her stipulation before he corrected, "The Land that was _once_ Without Magic. Call it whatever pleases you but the place that you hail from, we'll be headed there together, you and I. After that, we can split ways."

Off all the things she was expecting, another bargain offering partnership? Well, that certainly wasn't it. Hell, her mind had gone straight to the gutter. After all, this was Pirate McPervert she was talking to. He wouldn't be the first man to have that sort of entitled attitude. Okay, so maybe he was the first guy to save her life, but plenty of other men seemed to think doing something remotely nice for a woman meant she owed him some sexual favor in return. It wouldn't have surprised her in the least if Hook was that kind of asshole.

She certainly wouldn't have agreed to those terms. She was more likely to cut his balls off and feed them to him.

A gross sexual deal was what she expected, though, and she would have known what to say in return. She was prepared for him to be a disgusting prick but this, another offer of partnership? Well, now that she didn't know what to do with. She was sure she looked as surprised as she felt, unable to condense her emotions and keep her expression neutral.

"Don't look so surprised, Swan. We can help each other." Emma managed to wipe the thunderstruck expression off her face, but it wasn't as easy as she might of have liked.

"Oh yeah? How so? It's not like us working together worked out so great the last time." They'd had about five hours where it hadn't been terrible, and then everything had gone to shit. She was pretty sure he was aware of that, and even if he wasn't, she remembered it all pretty clearly.

"I've certainly had worse partners, darling, don't be so hard on yourself." Emma's eyes narrowed because that was definitely not what she meant and he fucking knew it. "They say two heads are better than one, savvy? Even when one of the heads is as pigheaded as you, my dear."

She wasn't sure why he thought that pissing her off was some sort of great strategy for getting her to agree to this stupid plan. God, she didn't want to _work_ with him, she wanted to strangle him. How could he go from sort-of sweet to so utterly insufferable at the drop of a hat? He was treading on a very thin ice with her and it certainly didn't help that he was delving into territory that she just didn't understand.

Emma boxed people into certain categories the second she met them. It helped her decide how to deal with them on a day by day basis. She could usually decide what sort of person she was dealing within ten minutes or less of meeting them, though sometimes (very rarely) she would shift them into new ones as she got to know their mindsets better. She had pegged Hook as an 'asshole with a big ego' before he had even cut her out of that net. She'd since shifted into the category of 'asshole who cared about nobody and nothing but himself' not long after. He had not done much to change her perspective on him, until he risked his own safety to save her.

She'd assumed the second he was free, he would have ran in the other direction. He had no obligation to her in the first place, the only reason he hadn't cut and run sooner was the arrow wound and poison induced hallucinations. It wasn't like they had ever really had any reason to be partners in the first place. He'd been free – wasn't that what he wanted?

Wasn't that what _she_ wanted?

"Why?" She pressed, rising onto her feet and moving towards him, her gait traitorously uneven when she put too much pressure on the bad ankle. Because of course that was just what she needed right now, another display of weakness when she wanted to be strong. The pirate moved toward her instantly, like he would catch her if she were to stumble. She shoved him backwards, and hard. Because she refused to fucking fall, and even if she did she doesn't want him to catch her. She'd rather fall and land on her face. "Why do you want to be partners with me? What can I possibly help you with? I'm not going to help you skin your Crocodile, or whatever the fuck you want to do when you make it to Storybrooke."

There was something about all this that she just couldn't understand, and it was driving her crazy. She can tell there's something he wants, that there's something he knows and she _doesn't_, and it makes her want to scream.

Hook watched her with a strange look in his eye and a tight grimace set into his features. It was weird to see him with an almost aggrieved look on his annoyingly handsome face. Usually he wore a mask of no emotion whatsoever, or that disgusting smirk that he probably thought was handsome.

She watches and waits for him to answer.

"I've been stuck in this forest by my lonesome for almost thirty years, Swan. Is it so unbelievable that now that I've found company that doesn't aim to stab me or eat me, I'd like to keep it?" Okay, wait, _what? _That … did she just hear him right? Her expression is incredulous, like she's trying to decide if he's joking, and why the fuck is her superpower not working? "You and I are not so different, Emma. We've both been left to fend for ourselves, and the world has tried to beat us down at every turn and we refused to let it. We can _help_ each other, Swan. You want to get home; I can help you get there. You watch my back, and I'll watch yours. What about that is so bloody hard to understand?"

All of it, apparently. It'd didn't make sense, and even though he wasn't lying, nothing about it seemed right, either. There had to be something in it for him, she couldn't believe that he'd just help her out of the goodness of his heart. She knows there's something, a reason, there _has_ to be. But he won't tell her his motivations and now he's trying to confuse her with some shit about them being similar and he's fucking _lonely_.

He's not lonely. She _knows_ lonely, so she would be able to tell. Emma Swan has spent the better part of twenty eight years alone, and she and lonely are on uncomfortably familiar terms now. She knows lonely so keenly that even when she's with people, it still festers inside her. She still can't shake the crippling fear that she will always be alone; it's probably a part of her now, sunk into her bones and into her skin, a crawling feeling that will never go away. She's been alone since she was a baby when her parents placed her in that wardrobe. She's been alone since August left her to tumble through foster care by herself. She's been alone since the third or fourth family to sent her back because they didn't want her, just like the rest of the world, and she had decided then that she wasn't going to let anyone get close enough to hurt her again.

A wise promise, but one that she'd ended up breaking. And that had worked out so well, hadn't it? She opened herself up to Neal, to love, to family, and he left her like all the rest. Left her to rot in prison at seventeen. Pregnant, confused, terrified, and so overpoweringly alone.

Or the worst feeling of loneliness that she's ever felt, when she gave up her baby to give him a chance at a good life because she knew she couldn't provide it. The incapacitating, breaking loneliness of being a mother without her child. The destroying fact that she was his mother and she still wasn't what was best for him.

She doesn't care if he's three hundred years old. He could be three thousand years old. He's not fucking lonely. He's certainly a lot of things, but whatever is driving him right now? It sure as shit isn't crippling loneliness. She doesn't want to think about the idea that he might actually mean it, or acknowledge the fact that her superpower didn't go off when he said it. She refuses to believe it. Whatever he wants from her, it isn't her company. There's just no way.

"You are so full of shit," She accuses angrily, storming close to him. Two can play at the invading personal space game. "You're not fucking lonely, so let's not even go down that road."

"You haven't the slightest idea—" He was certainly trying to sell it, but she really doesn't care _how_ long he's been alone and she doubts he does either. Whatever his motivations, it has nothing to do with crippling loneliness. It's something else and she is painfully aware of it, and she isn't going to follow after him blindly just because he needs a buddy in the cursed remains of The Enchanted Forest anyway.

"Tell me what it is you want or I'm going to limp out of here," She demands, watching him through narrow eyes. "I know you're full of _shit_ so let's stop playing this 'I'm so lonely' game. We both know it's a lie so just quit while you're already behind." For a few moments, his mask stays in place. But eventually he drops it, back to the cold and dark emotionless one, and it's almost a relief.

"Going to limp out without your slacks on?" He asks, eyes dropping to her legs almost lazily. She doesn't respond, because she knows he's trying to distract her. She just wishes he would stop with the mind games and attempt honesty for once. Does he even remember how to really be honest? He can ogle her naked legs all he wants. Regina saw this much skin around the third time they'd met, so she was markedly unconcerned. Emma doesn't do shy often, and she's not going to start now. She stares at him, impatient, refusing to rise to his bait.

His expression shifts again, and he looks almost annoyed. Annoyed she'll take, because it at least appears to be genuine.

"Are you going to tell me, Hook? Otherwise, you can see yourself out, if you're so worried about my naked legs wandering about the forest." She would not agree that she owed him anything, though it was clear that he wanted something. If he wanted something then maybe she could get something out of the agreement. Like where to find Lake Nostros. She didn't know why, but she couldn't get her thoughts away from it. She was pretty sure she'd even dreamed about it. Or some body of water, anyway. It's not like she's seen Lake Nostros before. She didn't know how or why, but it was important. She had to find Lake Nostros before she left here.

"The compass. I told you that I wanted to fetch it, yes? Well, Swan, it isn't a one man job," The pirate tells her. She eyes him, still critical, but this is a confession she is willing to believe. He had already told her about his designs to fetch the compass, and they'd already made plans to set out to get it together. Maybe that was why he'd extended the offer of partnership in the first place – he needed another person to fetch what he wanted. That fact only made her more wary of the likelihood that he would have betrayed her once he found it, but the terms were different now.

"So what does that have to do with me?" She asks him. It wasn't like they could both make use of the compass, after all. Not that she'd need it, if she could get her wardrobe to work for her twice, but he doesn't need to know her plans or he'd possible steal them without a second thought.

"I told you before that humanity leaves much to be desired in this place," Hook reminded her dryly. Emma certainly could remember that conversation, even though it manages to feel so long ago. Even if she knows that isn't fair, she really hasn't known the pirate that long. It's amazing that she's been here in the Forest for less than a week. "I need someone I can trust, Swan. After you saved me from that arrow wound that most would have abandoned me to suffer through on my lonesome, I trust you to help me fetch it without stabbing me in the back or trying to run off with it."

Emma finds that she can't tell if he's lying, and that's unbelievably frustrating, because _him_ _trusting her_ should send up warning signs like crazy. Maybe it wasn't that he trusted her, specifically, he just trusted her not to maim him. Which was maybe a good call around most people, but Hook was an exception to the rule. Emma wasn't sure she could avoid maiming him, he really asked for it sometimes.

Emma doesn't see any reason that she'd be obligated to work with him. He may have saved her from the wraith but it wasn't like he put a price on his services before extending them. She does not _have_ to do anything for Captain Hook. She doesn't owe him shit, no matter what he says. But…

If she can give him what he wants, maybe she will get what she wants.

"So, let's say I agree to help you." She raises a finger before the pirate can start on his cheeky rampage of how he knew she would agree. "I want something in return."

The pirate's expression of shock probably mirrors the one she'd been wearing a few minutes prior when he'd suggested them teaming up again.

"Such as?" He asks when he finally finds his voice again. It's nice to be the one stunning him silent for a change.

That was a good question. She really didn't know what she wanted, exactly. Directions to Lake Nostros seemed like a paltry fee for her services going up against a Giant, but what else could she ask for? She didn't want him to know about her destination, that she intended to go to the castle. That wardrobe was not made for two and even if it was, she was not going to drag Hook along to Storybrooke when all he would possibly do was hurt people.

But… just because she can't think of what that could be _now_, doesn't mean that she won't ever.

"I don't know," She decides with a defiant toss of her blonde head. "But you'll owe me, pirate, and when I name my terms you'll give them. Got it?"

His jaw is set incredibly tight at this development. Maybe he thought that she'd feel so grateful she would just swoon into his arms and be at his beck and call, but that was not how Emma Swan worked. Hell, she was grateful for the save, certainly. But she was not going to let him hold it over her head. She didn't care what he'd done, she didn't owe him anything, and there was no way he was going to force her to go anywhere she didn't want to go. But if she could cover her own ass by helping him… well, that was different.

She didn't like the idea of working towards the objectives of someone else. She just wanted to get home to her son and her family as soon as possible, and wandering off with the pirate seemed a distraction that wouldn't further her mission. However, if she looked at it objectively, he had a lot of information. Perhaps this favor would help further her objectives as well.

Besides, _especially_ while her ankle was still hurt, being with someone could only be at her advantage, as much as she hated to admit it. Without him, she'd be dead right about now. On top of that, Hook had motivation to keep her safe if he really needed her for this foray up a beanstalk. Hook seemed to know the lay of the land. Maybe he knew something about the witch that seemed to be quite intent on finding her. And maybe this beanstalk of his held promise beyond just the Compass. She wouldn't know unless she went, and she had agreed to this plan at least once before, hadn't she?

"One stipulation." Emma wasn't expecting that from him, but she gave him a slight nod. Fine, a stipulation, she would have to hear it before she could agree. "Your favor can't be regarding my Crocodile, savvy?"

Well, that was easy. Emma had no intention of getting between Hook and his mysterious Crocodile.

"Fine," She agreed, offering her hand to shake on it. "I'll help you get the compass, and you'll owe me a currently unspecified but unrelated to Crocodile fee. Deal?"

"Deal." The pirate glanced at her hand with a bemused expression. "You know, I don't normally shake on deals when I make them with ladies…"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're hoping to seal it with a kiss, you're going to be really fucking disappointed."

Hook suddenly seemed to tower over her. "Oh, is that so, darling? What if that's the only seal I'll take?"

He seemed to be trying to intimidate her, perhaps into not requiring the deal be sealed. Maybe he would have less issue breaking their agreement if they hadn't officiated it. Well, he was going to be disappointed if he thought she could be so easily cowed. If he didn't want to shake on it, well…

"_Fine_," Emma repeated, straightening her spine to a level of posture even Regina would be impressed by. "Seal it however you want, but we're going to seal it somehow or there's no deal."

Hook eyed her, and his expression was distinctly impressed. She wasn't sure exactly why, but she didn't care. She'd rather he be impressed than incredulous or back to the fucking aggravating arrogance. The air between them seemed electrically charged, and she waited. Was he going to make good on his offer? Or was he even going to take the deal at all?

Even though she was watching him like a hawk, when the cold edge of his hook touched her chin, she was surprised. It was weird how it always managed to be cold. She was lucky she didn't jostle so badly that she ended up with a lovely hole in her face. Gentle pressure forced her to tilt her chin upwards, and her eyes returned to his. Well, it seemed like he was going to make good on that 'sealed with a kiss' idea.

Damn her heartbeat for starting to hammer. So what if he kissed her? It was just a deal, and she'd just told him he could. It didn't mean anything, it was just a promise, making good on their agreement. Nothing more than that.

He leaned forward, and she watched his expression, trying to read what he was thinking. Her eyes fell on his and she regretted that decision instantly. She didn't look at them often and that was probably a good thing, because he had crazy gorgeous eyes. Why couldn't Hook look like that weird guy in the pantsuit from the Disney version of _Peter Pan_? God, he was attractive. It wasn't even fair. He was probably crazy for wanting to kiss her right now, even if it was just to seal a deal. Her hair was probably a mess and she wasn't wearing any make up and—

Oh god damn it was he going to do it or not? Her impatience and confusion reflected in her eyes, and that seemed to be enough to push him forward, nose nearly brushing hers he was so close. Her eyes fell closed because she was not going to watch him kiss her. God, that was just weird. And intimate. Which this wasn't. It would be a peck, and that was it, deal made. She hated herself for thinking of the last time he'd kissed her because he hadn't been kissing her at all, had he? But her brain remembered the way it had made her feel and produced those troubling butterflies even if he was taking far too fucking long with this kiss. She'd had trips to the DMV that hadn't lasted this long.

Suddenly, he surprised her by taking her smaller hand in his, and giving it a firm shake. Peeling her eyes open, she glanced down at their joined hands, releasing a breath she hoped he didn't notice she'd been holding. He'd had every opportunity to kiss her, and he'd chosen to shake her hand instead? She kicked down the frustrating feeling of disappointment because she was _not_ going to be disappointed. Her slim brows rose in an unspoken question, because she didn't trust her voice at the moment. Besides, what could she say? _Don't be a tease_? _Afraid to be a man?_ If he didn't want to kiss her that was a good thing, wasn't it? Because it wasn't like she wanted to kiss him.

The pirate released her, before tossing his shoulders up into an effortless shrug. "Well, darling… you do keep warning me that you aren't a lady."


	16. Chapter 16

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Knowing was perhaps half the battle, but knowing and not being able to do anything about it well that was an exquisite form of torture.

It was not that Snow was too ashamed to tell anyone that she had gone to Regina's in the dark of night and used black magic to figure out where her daughter was. Snow should have been more ashamed than she was. She told Charming the second she returned home, even knowing how he would react. Of course, at first he was happy. Emma was _alive_, in a place they understood. It was something to strive for, to work towards. They no longer needed to work aimlessly. But slowly it did come to him the implications of what she had done, and he was less than pleased. She could tell that he was hurt. The price of that dark magic was weighing on him, the worry showing in his every movement. He was worried that there was more to lose than just a blanket, that this magic would have implications that they could not escape.

Charming would always forgive her anything. Snow was not afraid of that. It was not a choice he would have made but he certainly understood why she had done what she had. But unlike her, he absolutely didn't trust Regina, and he certainly didn't trust her magic. Snow tells herself that he's just being paranoid, cautious, that what she saw has to be real. Unfortunately, his doubts slowly start to leak into her mind though and poison her certainty. How does she _really_ know what she saw had been through the eyes of her daughter? Regina had been cold but sincere. Would she really do something like that?

In the end, the answer is yes. No matter how much she would like to believe otherwise, she knows that her stepmother had the capacity to be that cruel. It's certainly possible, that it was all a hoax, that she's been deceived. That she was running on a dream, seeing only what she wanted to.

Snow finds that she can't let go of the chance that it was real, however. The alternative is too awful. If that was just an odd disjointed picture that Regina painted in her head to be cruel, then burning Emma's blanket was for nothing. She can't let that be for nothing.

In fact, the small jolt of a memory is not enough, and she finds herself searching for other things that she could sacrifice to the flame so that she might see more, feel attached to her again. It would not be much but all she wants is just a few more minutes, even seconds. At first her search was in earnest, then manic desperation. Because the more she looks the more she must accept the fact that she doesn't have anything else that belongs to both her and her daughter.

Most of the apartment reads strongly as just her own. From the decoration to the bedding to the tableware, none of Emma manages to linger in the loft. The only thing that still has bits of her is her bedroom, left in quiet and solemn memory. And even that is starting to fade, because Snow knows that Henry has been sleeping there, to be close to what little of Emma remains.

Snow knew shouldn't snap at the Henry for it (she not someone who _snaps_, where did that even coming from?) but she does. She is terrified that one day, it will no longer be Emma's room. That what little remains will be erased, and that Henry will take it over. What will she do if she cannot lie down on her daughter's bed and still feel the memory of lying there together? Smell that inexpensive shampoo that Emma refused to graduate from, or the soft hint of citrus-like perfume that Emma liked to wear? Just spraying the perfume isn't the same; it's an empty and fleeting sensation, because like her even the perfume isn't whole without Emma.

Snow knows it was unfair when she snaps at Henry. She may have lost a daughter, but Henry has lost a mother. Snow knows he needs her support, her sympathy, and her care. Not her ire. But she's tiring of being strong for everyone and she just wants to be weak. It's an exhausting exercise, to be strong. It is an ungainly and unbalanced act, and she can't perform it flawlessly anymore, and the mask is slipping more and more with each day that passes. So she snaps and Henry crumbles and takes it, without a word. Which only makes her feel worse because she can only imagine how angry Emma would be if she knew.

Emma, who picked up her entire life because she was afraid the boy was not being loved enough or supported. Emma had been so alert to the idea of Henry's unhappiness, so vigilant to keep him from harm. She was so concerned and so afraid of Henry being abused. It breaks Snow's heart because she knows that Emma does not want to see her son suffer through the same things she did. Which means Emma knows what it is like to be unhappy, to be harmed by the people who were meant to protect her, abused by people she trusted. Snow doesn't know the details; she hadn't even had time to ask before Emma was gone. But Emma wanted Henry's life to be better than hers had been, had dedicated herself to making sure he was happy, and Mary Margaret is letting her down every day.

She knows if the positions were switched her daughter would be stronger. Emma is so strong, in spite of everything. Snow used to think she was strong. Eschewing powerful magic that might have saved her mother because it was the right thing to so. Fighting for her life when her step-mother had been so desperately trying up take it from her. Leading her kingdom into rebellion and then safety. Giving up the thing she loved most, her darling daughter, to give her a chance at a life.

Snow doesn't feel like herself anymore, she feels more and more everyday like she's reverting back to the weaker Mary Margaret. Mary Margaret isn't strong, and Snow's strength used to be what defined her. Without Emma, she feels weak and broken and she's not sure she can be herself again if her daughter does not come home. Charming holds her at night and tells her that everything will all work out but the Mary Margaret in her can't force herself to believe it.

She knows where Emma is, and knowing but not acting starts to eat away at her. Charming tells her that she just needs to be patient, and maybe the fairy dust will make the hat work, or perhaps Blue will think of something. Mary tries to believe him, but slowly she decides they have only one option now, and she knows that Charming will dislike this plan even more than going to Regina.

But he loves her, and even though he tries to convince her to let it go, he goes with her when he realizes she can't. She won't let it go. Just like the last time, he goes with her, hand in hand. They go together, or not at all.

Mary Margaret never spent much time in the Pawn Shop during the curse. She rarely had spare money to buy things, after all; Gold kept the rent pretty high. Besides, it had always had a creepy air, even before she had understood why. As she steps through the door and the bell tingles above her, she knows why. Because this place is full of broken dreams and stolen memories, all gained from a crooked twisted deal. Never to be returned. Her large eyes scan every bit of the place, and her heart pangs uncomfortably at the glass mobile that spins on a wind that isn't there.

A large, strong hand wraps around hers. Snow looks at her husband, allows his calm and warm presence to reassure her. She intertwines their fingers, because they can face this, they can face anything as long as they face it together.

"Can I help you?" Comes a timid voice. The pretty girl behind the counter worries her lip, looking a little wary of them. Snow tries to give her a smile, to reassure her. This is not the first time they've met but it's fair to say that they don't know Belle well. Rumpelstiltskin keeps her isolated and so far she doesn't fight it. She occasionally goes to the diner by herself but otherwise Belle doesn't seem to leave Gold's presence. The last time they came to talk to Gold, it had not been a pleasant conversation. He had refused to help them try and find Emma, and things had not ended happily. There's still a mark in the wall from where Charming threw an axe at Gold. Mary counts her blessings that Gold had simply disappeared instead of retaliating.

"Yes," Snow says calmly, moving to stand at the counter near Belle. Belle gives her a hesitant smile in return. The girl is very sweet, Snow knows that. She has a big heart and she seems to wear it on her sleeve. Belle had tried to convince Gold to help them, but she'd made no more progress in it than they had. Snow still appreciates that she tried. "We need to see Mr. Gold."

Belle's smile wavers, but her voice does not break. She is stronger than she looks. "He doesn't want to see customers at the moment. I'm sorry." Snow's knuckles whiten but Charming doesn't say anything about her tight grip. Before Snow can come up with a response, her husband chimes in.

"Please. It's Belle, right?" Belle nods slowly.

"Yes. My name is Belle," She agrees, giving both of them a sincere but apologetic look. "I really wish I could help, but…"

"Look. I know our last meeting didn't turn out so well, but this is incredibly important." Charming has taken over the conversation and Snow finds she is very grateful. She knows that Belle wants to help them, she is just wary of upsetting Gold. As she probably should be. However, Snow just wants to yell at her. _Don't you know how important this is? Our daughter is missing! She could be dying out there alone and you won't help us. _"We need to talk to Gold. We want to make a deal."

The cords in Belle's slender neck tighten. She knows the significance of Rumpelstiltskin and his deals. Maybe she doesn't approve? Hopefully not. Snow doesn't understand how such a sweet, nice girl has fallen under the spell of someone like Rumpelstiltskin. It just doesn't make sense. How can this girl watch him at work and still love him, or even want to be around him? Isn't she aware of all the harm and destruction he's caused?

Belle opens her mouth, but before she can even say anything, that slippery accented voice rolls through the room.

"A deal is what you're looking for, is it?" Gold looks impeccable as always, in a dark pinstripe suit. Not even a hair out of place. But Snow remembers who he is, even if he doesn't look like the Dark One now. He still feels like the Dark One. Just being in his vicinity makes her feel like she can't breathe. Like all the oxygen seems to be sucked out of the air about him, as if oxygen and magic cannot coexist. Rumpelstiltskin places a hand on Belle's lower back. "How about you run over to the diner for dinner, sweetheart. I'll join you shortly. This won't take long."

Snow can feel her husband tense, and she takes a hold of his arm. They aren't here to pick a fight. They're here to get Gold's help, no matter what it takes. Belle gives them all a long look, confliction clear on her face. She takes a hold of Gold's hand, and holds it between both of hers.

"Do the right thing, Rumple." She tells him, giving him a small smile. Mary's expression falters, unable to ignore the love in the gesture. Belle does love him, but Snow can't help but think she shouldn't. Maybe she didn't choose it, though. You can't choose who you love. Belle gives them one last glance, and a reassuring nod, before she turns and exits through the door Gold entered by.

"So how can I assist you, dearies?" Gold wondered, expression and tone bored. Snow shares a look with Charming, unspoken question as to who should do the talking. "Come now, spit it out. I'm a busy man."

Her husband's jaw tightens and his body stiffens. All right, then. She will be the one doing the negotiations.

"We want to make a deal, to get passage to the Enchanted Forest," She tells him, voice strong. She's glad she remembered that she can be strong when she needs to be.

"Is that so?" Gold says, drumming his fingers on the glass countertop. Below his fingers are many rings, all beautiful and with their own story. None of which should be his, Snow guesses. "And what shall I get in return for my assistance?"

Snow and Charming have already discussed their terms, of what he might want. There's nothing they won't give, they already agreed. Material objects are nothing compared to their daughter. They will give him whatever he asks for, no matter what it takes. "If you want our hair, you can make another True Love Potion, and use it for whatever you—"

Gold slams his cane down, a loud crack echoing across the room. Mary winces, and Charming looks practically ready to jump over the counter and try and strangle the weaker looking man. "I don't need that, dearies, try again."

Snow swallows and tries again. "My kingdom. You can have it. You already have my crown, but you can have my title too." She can see her mother's tiara glittering from one of the display cases. She can remember staring at it wistfully on the few occasions she did brave the pawnshop. On a whim, she'd asked to try it on once, and Gold had refused, telling her she didn't have the presence for it.

"Oh, how grand. You'd give me a cursed, abandoned kingdom? How very magnanimous," Gold sneers. "_Try again,_ dearie, and do stop wasting my time. I haven't the patience for it."

Snow feels herself breaking before the words even come out. She hates herself but she's desperate.

"A baby. We'll have another one, and you can have it." That's always what Gold seemed to ask for, wasn't it? She'd read Henry's book, Rumpelstiltskin had an odd affinity for baby snatching. Charming turned to her, and she can feel his anger rolling over her like a wave. They had discussed this, and agreed they wouldn't cop to that sort of deal. Charming had been firm in his refusal. It hurts him more, because his brother was already lost to a dark deal with Rumpelstiltskin. Mary knows how much Charming will detest her if she went through with it but she doesn't know what else to do. She feels that she no longer has a choice. She knows they could always have another baby, maybe more than one. But she can't imagine doing that unless she can get her Emma back.

Gold watches her with that slow, dark, and painfully empty expression. For a fleeting moment, Mary thinks this is enough. That even he can't refuse a deal like that. However, after a long painful moment, he gives her that dark, crooked smile.

"No deal, dearie. I don't need a royal brat to an aforementioned cursed abandoned kingdom." Charming slams his free hand down on the counter, and it's hard enough that everything inside rattles dangerously.

"There has to be_ something you want,_" Snow begs, tears pricking at her eyes. He has to help them, he has to. This can't happen again, not when they know where to go and what to do. He always wants to make a deal, why won't he do it now?

"As a matter of fact… There is." Gold shifts to grip his cane with both hands, looking particularly unbothered by how Charming is seething beside her.

"Then what the hell is it?" David asks, unable to keep the anger from his voice. She can't blame him.

"Well, dearie, I need a favor. But unfortunately for you two, I _don't _need it from you. Your lovely daughter would have served, but she got sucked into that bothersome portal." Snow blinks, trying to ignore the treacherous sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach. She could tell this situation was about to go from bad to worse and she feels it in her bones it but she can't stop it.

"Then why don't you help us get her back?" David growled, fist slamming into the counter again, his tone like sharpened daggers. Rumpelstiltskin sighed, as if the effort required to carry a conversation with them was too much for him to bear.

It happened so quickly, before Mary could even blink. That slim, regal looking cane snapping up from the floor and into Charming's hand. So hard, both went through the glass of the counter. Charming gave a cry of pain, and Gold simply sneered, flicking his hand like he might swat a fly. Her husband went flying backwards, into another display case. Mary cried out, rushing to his side.

"Don't jostle the merchandise," Gold said, tone cold and disaffected. Mary cradled her husband's blonde head, but he was unconscious.

"What do you want?" She asked, tone grave. Even still, after what he'd done to Charming, she still asked. They needed him. He _had to_ help them find Emma.

"Nothing from you, Snow White," Gold said, reaching up to adjust his tie. Snow wasn't even sure it had been out of place. Gold threw her husband across the shop like he weighed no more than a piece of paper, and yet not even a hair was disturbed on The Dark One's head. "There's absolutely nothing from you I want, so I do suggest you stop trying before your husband's temper gets him killed." Snow tightened her grip around Charming, reassured by his steady heartbeat. He was unconscious, but he wasn't dead. "I won't make a deal with you, your highness. But the little prince? He has something I want. So go ahead and tell him – I'll send you and your husband back to the Forest if the boy does something for me. There's not another deal I'll make, dearie, and if you try and come and threaten me again, trust me that I won't be so polite in my refusal next time."

Snow's heart drops into her stomach. She can't ask Henry to make a deal for them. Emma would never forgive her for allowing him to do something like that. She can't make that deal, none of them can. But the words fall from her mouth even though she shouldn't even entertain the idea.

"What could you possibly want from Henry?" Snow asks tone heavy and broken. She can't control her voice anymore and it betrays her, just like her mind.

"That is just between me and the boy." Gold tells her, moving towards the curtain that led to the back of his store. "Now... kindly get out of my shop, dearie."


	17. Chapter 17

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Making a deal to work with Hook again had been painful as it was, but now that she had agreed to his plan, he seemed quite persistent in attempting to aggravate her. He'd been bad enough before, frustrating her so much that she had been tempted to rip out her hair. The mixture of arrogance, condescension, and his refusal to actually be honest with her had been terrible. The flippant, teasing mood he was in now was maybe a little better, though it would have been incredibly hard to have been worse. It was a return to how he'd behaved when they first met, and it was strange to jump from one attitude to another. He switched moods so easily, it was almost hard to keep track of them.

"Any time, Swan. I'm going to look my age by the time you're ready," the pirate complained from where he was lounging in the bed. Emma winged one of her boots at him, if only because she wanted to surprise him. Would serve that jerk right for her boot to hit him smack dab in the forehead.

He caught it effortlessly with his good hand. Damnit.

"Throwing your clothes at me already, darling? Can I suggest we do your top next?"

She threw her other boot at him, and with his one good hand occupied, he had nothing to catch the new projectile with. The boot bounced harmlessly off of his arm. Well, not quite his face, but she'd take anything at this point. She wished that she could ruffle him as easily as he could ruffle her.

"Would you just do me a favor and be silent?" she asked, giving a short huff and blowing some blonde strands out of her face. It wasn't like she was taking that long, anyway; she just had to put her leggings back on. Had he not just been complaining about her wandering around the forest with bare legs? He really struggled with consistency. "And try to be that gentleman you claim to be and keep your eyes on the wall." He'd already gotten a good enough gander at her naked legs; he didn't need to watch her finish getting dressed. It was just too strange. Hook obligingly turned his eyes on the wall.

"I _am_ a gentleman, Swan. It's just wasted on you, since you are so insistent that you are not a lady."

Emma might have to give him that one. Even though gentlemanly natures were pretty lost on her, that didn't make him one by default, either, no matter what he boasted. Exhaling sharply through her nose, Emma considered her options and found them lacking. Hook would either sneak a glance or he would not, and she could continue to stall or just get it over with. Making a decision, Emma wobbled onto her feet and pulled the leggings the rest of the way up. She was in the process of smoothing the fabric of the dress down again when the pirate cleared his throat. She glanced up, and his eyes were clearly no longer on the wall.

Why was she not surprised.

"You know, darling, I take it back. Maybe you should wander about the forest without those. You've got such lovely legs."

Rolling her eyes, Emma retreated to the bed where Hook had left her boots. "Sure, that's going to happen," she agreed, tone so achingly sarcastic that the birds outside the window were probably impressed by it. Hook, unfortunately, was not. "I'll do it if you do it, pirate."

She was only half serious.

He looked like he was considering it.

"You are incredibly welcome to get inside my pants, Swan, but apparently I'm deluded in hoping it would be a more private affair." Her hair shifted, and it took her a long moment to realize it was because Jones was toying with a strand of it. He seriously was working her last nerve. She tugged it out of his grasp, sending him a warning look that clearly stated he'd better start keeping that hand to himself or he would no longer have any. "Kinky minx, then. I didn't peg you as a voyeur."

She tugged on her boots, wincing to herself as her ankle protested. She'd taken her last drought of Mulan's herbs but it wouldn't work for roughly half an hour or so. At least the pain in her ass provided by the annoying Captain would probably distract her from the pain in her ankle. That sounded way dirtier than intended, and she was grateful it had not left her head.

"You know nothing about me, Hook," Emma reminded him, tying together her laces.

She was focused on her laces when the pirate purred directly in her ear, _clearly _too close, "Oh, but I'd like to, darling." Emma felt a shiver trace down her spine, and she could only hope that Hook hadn't noticed it. She turned to him and glared.

"Seriously, Hook, the next time you get into my personal space..." She leaned forward and watched his lips, maybe even ran her tongue across her own, just to tempt him. Considering the way his stormy gaze was suddenly locked on them, it was fair to say it worked. Emma's green eyes snapped to his, slim fingers tracing a line up his collar, and she stayed there for a heated moment before saying sweetly, "...you're going to come out of it bleeding." Hoping he got the point, she abruptly rose. Shoes on, pants on... Emma reached out to grab her bag. Yup, she was good to go.

"Such a tease, Swan," Killian sighed from behind her.

Seriously? Good to know that on top of all of his _other_ flaws, he managed to be hypocritical, too. Turning to face him, she offered a hand to help him out of the bed, internally questioning her actions and motivation for aiding such an infuriating creature. Maybe it was because, despite how annoying he was proving to be, she was starting to get used to him. This she could handle. His dark blue eyes caught hers, and for a moment she could even see the surprise hidden in them. Then he snapped back under that seamless persona and gave her a smirk instead, and he was the unflappable Captain Hook once more.

He took her hand all the same, and she tugged him out of the deep feather bed. He didn't even take the opportunity to fall into her like he might have if he was determined to be a creep. Perhaps there was still hope and he could be properly trained.

"Don't worry. I've got you, old man," she informed him cheekily, feeling a small smile spread across her features, even if he probably didn't deserve one. The pirate looked genuinely offended by the moniker, though that didn't seem fair. In what world was three-hundred-something _not_ an old man?

Hook reached out and snatched her bag from her grasp. Her brow furrowed, about to insist that she could carry her own things, but he held out her pistol for her instead. How he'd managed to hide it in that leather get-up, she'd never know. Emma didn't like the idea of Hook handling her loaded weapon, especially when he knew what it was and how to fire it, but she reached out and accepted it all the same. She would just need to keep it away from him in the future. Shortly after she had her firearm secured, the pirate offered her knife as well.

"Seriously, where do you hide these things?" Emma mused, leaning down to tuck the knife in her boot. She didn't have a sheath for that one so her boot was the easiest place for it.

"As much as I'd love to show you, I thought we were in a hurry."

Of course he would respond like that. Emma sighed, crossing her arms.

"Do you know what a rhetorical question is, Hook?" she asked, deciding to give up on carrying her bag without putting up a fuss. If he wanted to be her pack mule, so be it. She was still injured, after all.

"Let me guess, that was one?" the pirate asked facetiously, skirting around her towards the door and scooping up another bag on the way. He had another, larger bag that he'd packed fairly full of things he'd found in the cabin. This place was far better maintained than the farm they'd stayed at previously. It seemed somehow heartless to take supplies. Somebody had lived here, taken care of it fairly recently if the relative lack of dust and state of repair told an accurate story, allowing guilt to settle into Emma's heart. Despite that, though, it had a subtle air of abandonment; if its occupants had left, it had been recently.

But they needed the supplies, and sometimes necessity outweighed guilt. She gave the small cabin an empty, silent apology before moving after the pirate. Her gait was a little uneven but the numbness was starting to set in. Hook waited at the door, watching her. By the time she caught up, he offered her an arm.

Emma looked at it for a long moment. _Really_? Did she look like she was some fainting maiden that needed an arm to lean on? So maybe her ankle was sore, that didn't mean she was going to hang off a pirate when she could still hobble around pretty well. At best, they could look out for a walking stick. Emma eyed the arm for a few more seconds like it might sting her, before walking past it. His attempts at etiquette were wasted on her, and she really wished he would give up already.

"How far is it?" she asked, throwing the question over her shoulder. She didn't need to, however; the pirate was not particularly dejected by her rejection and was following behind her quite closely with that characteristic swagger of his.

"Oh, less than a day of walking, I'd gather," the pirate told her, hoisting both bags over the same shoulder and lingering behind her. Emma stubbornly stopped and waited for him to take the lead because she felt safer when she could see him at all times. The pirate noted her reluctance but moved in front of her anyway. "On a good leg, anyway."

Her glare was lost on him, as he was in front of her and couldn't easily mark her expression, but she felt better getting it out of her system anyway. He had said it to piss her off, anyway, so he could probably guess that she was sending him a sour look. Her leg may have been sore but she could get just as far as the pirate. It was almost like he was challenging her, and she refused to give him the power to gloat that she couldn't keep up. Not going to happen.

She trailed behind him, not too far and not too close, and pulled her fingers through her hair. It was not as messy as she had expected, but she honestly wanted to bathe. Maybe it was a weird thing to desire, all things considered. She clearly wanted a portal that would magically take her home more. However, a nice shower would be great. Too bad that wasn't going to happen.

They fell into silence and a part of her was grateful. Banter she could handle, and the leering comments weren't _that_ bad; all she had to do was huff and roll her eyes. However, there was plenty that had happened between their first agreement and this one that might have been brought up and she was glad that it didn't happen. It sort of lingered between them, unspoken, but she felt oddly aware of it all the same. Honestly, she didn't need or even want Hook to thank her for the work she'd done on his arrow wound. It would only bring up uncomfortable questions and even if he was willing to answer, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Emma hadn't wanted to go into his hallucination, nor did she wish to own up to the fact that he'd kissed her. Truth be told, she preferred to avoid that conversation even more than she wanted to avoid the fact that he'd been _this _close to relieving her of her heart, which was kind of ridiculous. If her luck held, he wouldn't remember at all. If he did remember, well…she hoped he was too much of an asshole to try and apologize or bring it up. And she really did not want him to bring up the kiss because even if he hadn't been trying to kiss her, it had happened, and it just brought up way too many strings and complications that this already troubled partnership did not need.

There were other questions, of course, but as long as the pirate kept silent about his, she made the decision not to address hers. Even if she was pretty interested in knowing how Hook's wound had healed in less than twenty-four hours, and why exactly he'd been following her around after she'd sent him away, she could manage to stifle her curiosity for the time being. If she needed to know, she'd try and ask him later. Things were almost...pleasant between them, and she wanted it to stay that way as long as possible.

Breaking out of her thoughts, Emma noticed they had stumbled across a large felled tree over the path they were taking. Emma was game for going around it but before she even had a chance, the pirate leapt up like a cat, all liquid grace. He was way too nimble for his age, she decided. She was considerably younger and didn't feel that spry, even when she was in perfect health. She watched him carefully as he plucked a path up the log with rather impeccable balance.

"Showoff," she accused him with a shake of her blonde head. She hadn't managed to find her hair tie so it was currently unrestrained.

"Ah, darling, don't be jealous. It comes with years of practice."

She could believe that, honestly. Three hundred years was a long time, and it had apparently helped him develop a sense of grace she couldn't possibly match. On top of that, his balance probably had something to do with his occupation. Pirates were on ships and had to have good balance or they'd be stumbling about the deck all the time. Or, at least, she guessed that was the case. Emma had never even been on a boat before. The pirate shifted the bags onto his hook before offering his hand to help her up onto the log.

Emma wanted to tell him that she could go around. It was the easier way, and it wouldn't be even a thirty second detour. She _should_ have told him that.

Instead, she surprised herself by taking his hand. He waited for her to set her good foot on the log and gave her a quick tug up, and her bad ankle didn't even protest. She expected him to release her after she was up to balance on her own, but he didn't.

Holding his hand as she tried to keep her feet on the mossy log wasn't easy, but it was almost like she had to prove that she could clamber across felled trees, too. The pirate may be part monkey, but Emma Swan had history in climbing on things she shouldn't. She had been a rambunctious child, climbing over and into whatever she could manage, and her foster parents rarely cared enough to try and stop her. The log was large enough that they could have walked on it longer, but it angled upwards the farther they went and that made it harder to keep her balance. The pirate jumped down first, without releasing her hand. Pretty impressive that he'd managed it without sending her tumbling after him.

This had been a bad plan, she realized. That sort of jump - four feet, maybe five - would hurt on this ankle. She started to turn back to find a safer place to jump when the pirate tugged on her hand, forcing her eyes to his.

"Come on, darling. Spare me a little bit of trust, would you?" Her expression wavered, as much as she would have liked to hide it. Her and trust? The pirate clearly didn't know how much he was asking. It was odd to look down at him like this, his grip on her hand adjusted to just hold her fingers. Emma knew that _technically, _she was a princess, but she had never felt like one. Something about this pose was reminiscent of royalty, though, and she wasn't sure she liked the feeling it gave her. She chased those thoughts away quickly, because she wasn't really royalty, and even if she was, Hook was not her loyal knight. That thought process was just too strange.

This wasn't about trust, she decided. Hook hadn't earned her trust, and she wasn't sure he ever would. This was about being stubborn and refusing to accept any help. She was an independent woman and defined herself by said independence, but if she'd learned anything since arriving in the forest, it was that she could not do everything alone. That was a lesson she should have learned in Storybrooke, and she'd forgotten it the second she'd arrived alone in a new and unknown world. She had reverted back into the mindset that it was her against the world, that she could rely on herself and nobody else; the way she had lived ever since Neal. It had seemed like the safest plan at the time but it could have killed her.

Not that she'd been gifted with a lot of people worth her trust, but there had been bright spots. Mulan and Aurora had both helped her a lot, and she doubted they knew what Philip had been up to. Phillip had appeared to feel guilty; he didn't seem like a bad person, just a cowardly one. And Hook certainly had his moments that were questionable, but any time he had tried to help her, he had not let her down.

With a quick exhalation, she released his hand but gave him a small nod. Hook didn't bother hiding his surprise this time, however he wisely didn't question why she'd agreed. He moved a little closer, close enough that she could slip an arm around his shoulders. Hook's arm snaked confidently around her and he pulled her against him for a moment, picking her up as if she weighed no more than the two bags still slung over his shoulder. He was definitely stronger than his weird playboy persona would have implied. She slid down his body to the ground, exquisitely close if one wanted to look at it that way (and she didn't). No harm, and no dropping to speak of; not even a creepy grope on the way down (not that she was disappointed).

She leaned against him a moment to get her bearings before pulling back to her own space. He probably didn't want her leaning against him, she felt particularly gross. She didn't need the pirate to complain about how she smelled. Of course Hook didn't seem the least bit skeevy, and even smelled good. He was nowhere near the ocean and still managed to smell like it. How did that work? Oh god, she was not going to think about how Hook smelled _anymore_. Why had her head even gone there?

"Thanks," she said, eternally grateful that her tone was not breathless. The last thing she needed was to give Hook the impression that she enjoyed being that close to him. This was just business, nothing more. Even though her heartbeat had quickened for a second. She told herself that she'd just been afraid he'd drop her.

"You're welcome," he answered easily, turning away from her without so much as a smirk or a leer or even a comment about having her pressed against him. She'd been expecting it, and she wasn't sure how to take the fact he'd helped her, accepted her thanks, and that was it. The second she thought she had the pirate pegged he surprised her, and he had surprised her by doing nothing at all.

She fell into step beside him instead of behind him.

They continued walking and her ankle slowly started to ache from overuse. She had been keeping an eye out for a branch heavy enough that she could use it as a walking stick, but so far no luck. It was frustrating. She didn't want to lean on the pirate but she also didn't want to ask to take a break. The unfortunate part of an injury like this was the more she aggravated it, the slower it would take to heal. If it would heal at all.

Emma didn't see any other solution - she had to keep going. She couldn't just sit around and wait for the injury to heal. She would go crazy wasting that much time. Her family was left behind in Storybrooke, probably worrying themselves sick. On top of that, Regina and Gold had all the opportunity in the world to plot, and Emma hated that she was stuck here, unable to do anything. Storybrooke was the closest thing she had to home, and Emma was desperate to make it back.

The pirate didn't offer to slow down and she was not going to bring it up before he did. It was just sheer stubbornness at this point. She did not want to point out the obvious and prove that Hook had been right that she couldn't keep up. At some point they were going to have to stop and eat, or at least she hoped that was on the agenda. Her body hadn't really considered it upon first waking. She'd been too distracted by their heated conversation to really consider stopping for a snack, and straight after that they'd been out the door and on the move. She isn't complaining, it felt better to move towards their goal. It feels like her most productive day in days, though unfortunately, their destination isn't exactly where she wants to go.

Though, a troubling thought strikes her; where are they going to find food? They're going to have to scavenge some more, unless Hook had been out hunting during the time she'd been out. She still didn't know what he'd been up to and she wasn't going to ask, either.

"We can rest up ahead, lass," the pirate informed her, quite out of the blue, and she catches him sneaking a look at her. She doesn't care if he looks, her mask is up and there is nothing there to read. Not even the pain, though she won't be able to hide it much longer.

"Where?" she wondered, trudging wearily around a sinkhole in the path. It's a matter of pure curiosity, and she isn't even sure if Hook will be compelled to answer.

"A lake, not far from here." He informs her, and at this she can't deny her interest.

"Lake Nostos?" She asks, though she manages to keep the excitement out of her voice. At this, Jones turns to throw her a glance, one he doesn't try to hide. She feels a little nervous, somehow, because of that wary look he handed her. Should she have been more subtle in bringing it up? Does he even know what Lake Nostos is? Or was that look because he was surprised she knew of it? She keeps putting her foot in her mouth, showing her hand before his is even dealt. But she doesn't feel too badly about this slip. She could have heard of Lake Nostos from the Disney trio. She has an excuse if she needs one.

However, the pirate doesn't ask. Maybe she isn't the only one who has decided to make a silent pact to not ask questions. "Oy, lass, the remains of Lake Nostos are behind us. It's been dried out for decades."

Her head suddenly and instantly aches, as strong and intense as a migraine but out of nowhere. Emma stumbles but manages to keep her feet, but she can't walk with the sudden intense spike of pain. She winces, hand rising to her temple. Dried up for _centuries? _That can't be, it can't. She has to go to Lake Nostos, she _has to. _She won't be able to go home unless she does. It can't be dried up, it just can't. She needs the water, she-

"Swan?" Hook's tone is light but she can hear an undercurrent in it, something almost like concern. The blinding pain in her head breaks the second her thoughts shift. She looks at him, uncertain. His eyes show even more clearly what was hidden in his voice. She feels a spot of dampness below her nose and gingerly touches her fingertip to it, and it comes back bloodied. She stares at it, perplexed. She doesn't get nosebleeds often, usually it's just because of dry artificial heat. Emma had gotten a lot of nosebleeds in the police station, where the heat was electric and just too dry. She can still remember Graham turning into a ball of nerves any time it happened.

She also remembers the humidifier he bought for the station so it wouldn't happen again. It'd been so simple but so _sweet_, and the gesture was so unmistakably him and not like anything else anyone had ever done for her. It had been such a ridiculous little thing, too, shaped like a frog. Emma had taken a screwdriver to it when he died. It was in pieces in a box, hidden in her closet, because she couldn't force herself to throw it away.

It takes her a moment to reclaim her voice. "I'm fine. Just a... Just a nosebleed." The pirate stares at her silently, but doesn't say anything. He digs in a pocket and procures a handkerchief, which he offers to her. Seriously, where is he hiding all these things? Yes he obviously had a lot of pockets but really, that coat could hide so many items it had to be enchanted.

She plucked the soft black cloth from his hand with a scoff. "You're really trying to push this whole 'gentleman' thing, aren't you?" He was like Rhett Butler, only without the Charleston accent. His loss, though, she could hardly give back his hanky after she bled all over it. She tilted her head back and clamped, trying not to think of the lake. She would deal with that can of worms later. She didn't need to induce a migraine freaking out about it. Emma hadn't had a panic attack in years and she did not need to start up again now.

"I keep trying to tell you, my dear, but it's like you refuse to accept the obvious." Hook tossed her a smile over his shoulder, and it was almost charming, because it seemed genuine.

_Almost_. Because she does not think anything about Hook is charming.


	18. Chapter 18

_AN: Just a very quick apology to you guys. I know chapters have been a little slower lately. I was on vacation and then dealt with not having a computer and the combination of the two made consistency very difficult. I am going back to work on Thursday so hopefully updates will be more consistent again from now on. _

_Thank you to all my readers and anyone who has suggested ways for me to improve. I hope you see me making good on the suggestions when I have the opportunity! You guys are great, so thank you. Your reviews mean a lot to me so thank you for taking the time to help me be better! _

* * *

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Thankfully, they made it to the lake with no other interruptions. After her nosebleed, nothing really happened at all. They walked, Hook would occasionally toss a jeer her way, and she would scoff or roll her eyes and that was that. Near the end of their trek, she focused more on keeping her feet moving and her ankle from folding than maintaining a conversation. If Hook noticed he didn't comment. It was hard to believe how long they'd walked, really; they had started out late morning and continued through maybe early evening. It wasn't quite starting to get dark but the sun was starting to sink. Emma's stomach was beginning to ache, a raw familiar feeling of hunger after not eating in a couple days, but she refused to complain.

After all, she'd dealt with missing meals before. When she'd been homeless and on the streets, sometimes she would get only one meal a day, unless she gave herself a five finger discount on something small and unfilling from a convenience store. It had admittedly been a while but as long as they figured out something in the way of sustenance soon, she was not going to protest. They had better things to do than wander around trying to find her a snack. Getting to this beanstalk was more important. They would work on food later.

Though she refused to show Hook that her ankle was bothering her, Emma was pretty grateful to make it to the lake. It was large, larger than she'd been expecting. The air around it seemed cleaner and cooler. It was rustically beautiful, undisturbed nature, and something Emma was criminally unused to. It wasn't one of those scummy, ugly lakes she typically encountered back home; the water was deep blue, and currently moving with the slight breeze. She could see the trees lining the far banks, even if they were far away. Maybe a mile, no more than that. It was oddly calming, actually. Emma wished her phone was working, or had charge, or _something_, because this was a memory of the Enchanted Forest she'd like to remember. She would have liked to take a picture.

"Wow. It's beautiful," Emma breathed, glancing over at Hook. The pirate was looking at her, which was kind of unsettling if he'd been watching her instead of the view, but Emma couldn't tell for sure.

"It's a lake, lass. Lakes are lakes," the pirate responded disinterestedly, unimpressed by the picturesque view. Emma's nose wrinkled. Well, somebody was hard to please. In what way was this not beautiful? She could imagine living in a place like this, maybe. If her life was perfect and she could afford property like this. Though, there weren't a lot of lakes around Maine. Or Storybrooke, specifically.

"What's wrong with lakes?" Emma wondered, a draft of wind picking up her blonde hair and hitting the sweat on the back of her neck. She shivered, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant.

"I suppose they're fine for landlocked imbeciles who don't know better. But a lake is no ocean, darling, they can't begin to compare."

Emma found she couldn't disagree with that, even if she wanted to. She'd always loved the ocean, and was happiest when she lived in a town where she could head out to the beach whenever she pleased. Storybrooke had a beach, but it had yet to be warm enough for her to actually enjoy it. Emma could remember the beautiful beaches of Florida if she closed her eyes and thought hard enough. The white sand, the clear air, feeling so small and yet a part of something so big. She could almost feel the kiss of the sun on her face and the sea breeze in her hair… Yeah, this lake couldn't compare.

"I don't know where your thoughts are, Emma, but I think I'd like it there." Emma was starting to get used to Hook reading her like a book. He was probably right, though. It was one of her best memories, at least, of the ones she'd made alone. She couldn't imagine anyone hating it, but if the pirate really was that fond of the ocean, he would have loved it. Emma opened her eyes, almost hesitant to leave the beach in her recollection at all. It was safe there, she was almost happy there. As happy as Emma had ever managed to be when she was alone.

"Maybe you would have," Emma agreed, meeting the pirate's gaze. She could feel a smile on her face, still feeling the contentment of the memory. It felt like the first time she'd actually gotten to see him, the man beneath the persona. The first time she'd spoken to Killian Jones, and not Captain Hook. He gave her a smile that was downright boyish, and Emma forced herself to look away.

Right. As nice as the view was, now was the time for resting. Emma was quite ready to take a break. She wondered if there was a way for her to sit down without hurting her ankle in the process, but it didn't seem likely.

"Need a hand?" the pirate offered, once again reading her with an uncomfortable amount of ease.

"That's a lot to ask, considering you only have the one," the blonde pointed out. The pirate seemed less than amused, tossing her a dark look for her insensitive joke, but Emma ignored it. She wasn't an invalid, though, she could manage to sit down on her own. Her body seemed to creak as she did so, but she managed, and her ankle began to throb in protest. Emma wondered if this rest would be long enough to soak her ankle in the water. God that sounded amazing. The water was so pretty, and surprisingly clear for a lake. She could go swimming; that would have been a welcome relief to the grungy feeling she had. However, despite being quite comfortable with her body, Emma didn't plan on stripping in front of the pirate. Emma had done that plenty already.

The bags dropped beside her with a soft jangle. Emma placed a hand on top of them before looking up at the pirate, curious. Was he not going to rest himself? Emma felt a little insecure at the idea of being the only one resting, but she wasn't sure she could push herself further without a break, either. As much as she hated it, she needed a pause in traveling. With the way her ankle was aching even sitting still, she wasn't sure she'd be able to continue tonight. Emma felt rather foolish for pushing herself too hard but there was nothing she could do about it now.

"Well? Come on, Captain Snarky, I don't bite," Emma said, indicating the ground next to her.

"Not to worry, I'd prefer it if you did," Hook said with a shark-like grin. Emmasighed. And he'd been doing so well. "You rest, Swan. I know you females have tiny peckish appetites but I'm quite ravenous. We need a meal before we can move on."

Emma frowned at this. Even if they'd agreed to work together, she was far too wary of him bolting at the most convenient opportunity. "Just give me a minute, all right? I'll come with you." The words felt hollow even to her. Emma and movement was not going to happen, not any time soon.

"Now, try not to be offended, my dear, but with you hobbling along behind me I'll never be able to hunt." Emma still managed to be offended despite his entreaty not to, _and _knowing he was right. "Oh, stop pouting, Swan. I'll find food, you rest and start a fire. I'll be back, I assure you."

Emma was _not_ pouting. If looks could kill, that pirate would have been in an unmarked grave. "How do I know that?" she demanded, and immediately regretted it. She didn't trust him but she didn't need him to know it, either.

Hook considered her for a moment, before reaching for his hook. With a twist and a strange click, the device popped off. Emma was flustered, having never seen him without it before. He held it out to her, expectantly, and she hesitantly reached out to accept it. Hook didn't have to explain. Emma knew that the pirate was fond of his namesake. He didn't have to explain that leaving it with her meant that he'd be forced to come back, no matter what happened. Surprisingly enough, it was comforting. More comforting than words could ever have been.

"Fine," she said, running her fingers along the curve of the hook, wary not to cut herself on it. It was a lot sharper than it looked, though mostly on the inner portion than the outer curve. Emma could handle starting a fire, once she rested a little. There was a tree line not too far from here, so she could find something to burn. Besides, selfish as it was... Emma was pretty desperate for a swim. Splitting up wasn't a terrible plan, and now that Emma was confident her pirate would return, she was a little less uneasy about it.

"Don't look so pleased to be rid of me, darling," Jones said, and even Emma had to chuckle at that.

"I'm just imagining the damage I can do with this thing." She could imagine quite a lot.

"As long as you're not imagining the damage being done to me," Hook replied, turning to leave. Emma watched him go, long enough to see the dark leather of his jacket disappear into the woods, before she put the hook down. A part of her wondered if he was going to stay near enough the edge that he could see her if she undressed, but the longer she thought about it, the less she cared. So what if he did? She was a little desperate to get in the water. She could keep on her underwear until she was in if she was really worried, and take it off only long enough to wash it. Soggy undergarments would be weird but it'd be better than nothing.

Emma paused long enough to dig through one of the bags, plucking a bar of homemade soap from it. She'd been dreaming of it since she saw Hook steal it from the cabin. She hadn't washed with soap since … oh, god. Before she'd even gotten here. No wonder she felt so disgusting. The soap was rough but it smelled of honey and maybe oatmeal. Emma kept digging, looking for a spare cloth to use as a washcloth, but found herself surprised to find... clothes?

They were certainly clothes. Had this come from the cabin, too? They didn't look like her size, exactly, and they were cut for a man, not a woman. However, considering she had yet to see the pirate in something that wasn't black, leather, or both, she had to doubt these were meant for him. Had he really packed spare clothes for her? She didn't want to think it was sweet, but the idea of putting on damp clothes wasn't a great one. It was definitely thoughtful, as much as she hated to admit it. Emma set a large white shirt aside, as well as some rough-spun trousers. She didn't care if the clothes were meant for men, clean was clean.

Emma glanced at the treeline, but caught no sight of the pirate. Well, it was now or never. Emma removed her weapons first: her gun, its holster, and then her knife. Her boots and her socks went next, before she stripped off her shirt and her tank, leaving only her bra, and then wiggled out of her leggings, too. Emma didn't even stand up, instead laying back in the grass and lifting her hips off the ground with her good foot. The water wasn't terribly far, but getting to her feet wasn't easy. The blonde wobbled to the edge, and carried her clothes only as far as the beach. She'd wash them after she was clean, probably once she had some pants on again. She didn't need to give the pirate a show, and Emma was a little wary of him catching her bathing. He probably didn't think cleanliness was as important, but Emma was a creature of her time. Not showering every night was already bad enough. She had water at her disposal, so she was going to use it.

The water was colder than she was expecting, but it felt so blissful against her skin, especially the swelling monstrosity that was her ankle. The bottom of the lake was littered with pebbles, and bit into her bare feet. At least it wasn't muddy, but Emma would have tolerated any sort of bottom for a chance to get clean. She trudged out into the water, about waist deep, before forcing herself to dive under. The water was brightly cold, and her skin tingled in not-quite protest. It was a strange but pleasant feeling, like her nerves were singing. It was nice to experience that in a positive way, for once. The dark purple scar of the wraith's handprint ached especially, feeling somehow colder than the water around her, but that wasn't too unpleasant, either.

Emma might have liked to swim around a little, but with a bar of soap in one hand and a washcloth in the other, and a bad ankle to boot, she didn't have a lot of grace for it. Besides, the faster she washed, the better. Hook wouldn't be gone forever, after all, and he'd have a lot to say about her being actually naked, she had no doubt about that.

Walking until the water covered everything but her shoulders, Emma focused on washing every bit of skin she could reach. She washed her hair at least three times, not caring if a drying bar soap would make it unmanageable. Clean was more important than pretty. And when that was done, well... Emma checked the surroundings one last time for any sign of Hook. She couldn't see anything, and her undergarments needed a bath almost as badly as she had.

Emma held the soap between her legs as she removed her bra, before scrubbing it within an inch of its life. She abandoned it to float around her as she did the same for her underwear. God, being stuck in a mostly empty world sucked. If only she'd thought to bring spare underwear. The bra was pretty plain cotton, but her underwear was black lace boyshorts and far more delicate. Washing it in a lake was not exactly what was suggested on the tag, but Emma was certain lake-wash was better than no wash at all.

Emma put her undergarments back on as soon as they were both clean. It'd be weird to wander around with wet underwear but it would dry soon enough. Hell, once she had a shirt on, she might take the bra off. Her chest would appreciate the freedom. If the shirt was big enough, Hook might not notice. At least, she told herself that.

Dragging herself out of the water was way harder than expected. Emma would have liked to just enjoy the water, float around until she was forced to go in. However, a deal was a deal, and she had a fire to make. As she stomped out of the water, the air bit at her wet skin, but there was still enough sun that she would dry quickly. Emma pulled the large shirt over her head, before living up to her promise to ditch the bra for the meantime. Emma had to tie her pants closed because they were simply too big to stay up, but she felt _clean. _It felt like it had been ages since she felt clean.

The sheriff would have really appreciated a towel for her mane, but she made do with wringing it out and then letting it be. Once it was dry enough she could maybe pin it up, but for now there was nothing she could do about it. It dampened the back of her shirt since it was impossible to get _all_ the moisture out. At least she wasn't completely soaked.

Emma laid out her damp bra to dry in the grass, before deliberating what was more important. Wash her clothes, or start a fire? As the sun was slowly starting to sink, Emma decided that fetching her firewood was probably smartest, and then she'd wash the clothes if she still had time. A part of her worried that the pirate hadn't returned, but his hook glistened in the grass next to her weapons. He hadn't snuck back for it. She reached out to grab the hook, hiding it in her pocket, and then taking her knife and pistol, too. She wasn't going to wander over to the wood unarmed, not when she apparently had desperate men trying to catch her for some nameless witch.

Luckily, she was needlessly cautious. It took her three trips to bring enough kindling and logs to keep a fire running, but her ankle felt much better after her dip in the lake. Not so much it didn't hurt, but... well, she had to keep up her end of the bargain. Emma refused to not pull her weight. The pirate was finding food, so she was going to make a fire and there was not a thing that was going to stop her.

It took her a couple tries to get the flint to actually start a fire, but with a woman as determined as Emma, there was no way she'd give up until it started. Emma managed to start a tiny flare and bent low, blowing until the flame spread, lapping at the kindling like a thirsty dog. Emma was rather pleased with herself. For having never started a fire before in her life, at least not without a fireplace and newspaper and a lighter, this one wasn't so bad.

Emma even had time to wash her clothes, and with a mix of the rocks at the bottom of the lake and the soap, she was pretty confident they were as clean as she could get them. Emma laid them out in the grass to dry, just as she had with her bra, and then allowed herself to lean by the fire and relax. Her bra was a little damp still, but Emma pulled it back on, anyway. Once the night got cold enough, it would be harder to hide that she wasn't wearing it.

The last thing she needed was the pirate wondering if it was 'getting nippy' out.

Speaking of the pirate... where the fuck was he? Emma felt surprisingly weary, all her responsibilities accomplished. As darkness started to fall, the blonde tugged the hook out of her pocket, fingers tracing the curve as she worried. Emma had been certain that his leaving the hook meant he would have to come back, but how long had it been? An hour? Maybe two. That was long enough to get away from her. That was a hell of a head start, after all, especially when she was so incapable of keeping up. _Catching_ up was out of the question.

Emma doesn't remember falling asleep, but she must have. When her eyes open again, the hook was still in her fingers, but she wasn't cold. She hesitated for only a moment before she forced herself up. A blanket fell from her shoulders to pile in her lap, and Emma stared at it for a moment as she tried to decide where it might have come from.

"There you are, Swan. I was worried that you might have been cursed. You're quite the heavy sleeper." Emma fumbled, rubbing sleep from her eyes, but her heart pounded with something distinctly like relief to see that cocky grin in the glow of her fire. "Can I have that hook back now, my dear?"

Emma wasn't totally sure why he hadn't relieved her of it while she slept. Maybe he was worried about cutting her by accident? Or maybe he had not wanted to disturb her. She couldn't decide what the answer was.

She moved towards the fire, taking a spot next to him. The pirate was spinning some sort of bird over the fire, and it smelled way better than it should. Emma couldn't see how he intended to put his hook back on when his only hand was preoccupied, so she reached out to take a hold of his bad arm. She could feel him stiffen underneath her touch, but he didn't shy away and neither did she. Emma tilted her head, pausing to consider the mechanism set into his arm. She didn't want to do this wrong, after all. In the light of the fire, it was kind of hard to see, but Emma managed to insert the hook and twist it back into place, like she had observed him do before.

The pirate held it up in between them, as if admiring his own hook. He was way too fond of that thing. Emma moved away from him a little, settling into her own space near the fire. The pirate, hook restored, resumed cooking. Emma watched him silently for a moment, before her curiosity got the better of her.

"How long were you gone?" she asked, watching him closely as she waits for his answer. Maybe she would be able to read him for once.

"Three hours, perhaps closer to four." His response was swift and without a hint of hesitation. Emma believed him, if only because there appeared to be little motivation for him to lie. The night was completely dark around them, but Emma was glad that she had not slept for long. A hint of weariness still clung to her senses. An hour or two of dozing would not keep her from falling asleep again later.

"What took you so long?" she asked, trying to stifle a yawn and failing miserably. The pirate doesn't answer for a long stretch, long enough that Emma assumed he didn't want to discuss what had happened.

"This area especially is desolate. Things don't grow as easily here, and the animals are wary of the beanstalk." Emma frowned, but she at the same time believed in the truth of his words.

"At least you found something," Emma conceded, though she wished it had not taken so long. Hook pushed a plate toward her, stocked with a pile of raspberries. Random, but Emma was hungry enough that she neither cared nor questioned. She plucked a couple from the plate and _savored_ the sweet, bright taste. The pirate removed his fowl from the fire, and Emma continued to nibble on berries until he prepared a plate for her. Hook delivered one a few minutes later, with a large enough portion for three. Even starved as she was, Emma couldn't eat that much.

They ate in relative silence for awhile. The meat was better than she would have guessed. The taste wasn't too gamey or unpalatable, considering that was wild. Emma would have killed for some salt, and maybe some ketchup. But the bird was hot and surprisingly tasty.

Emma tried to keep her words in her head, but the silence that stretched between them seems too unbearable. It was odd that she was taking the reins in keeping up conversation, when usually it was the pirate that did most of the talking. Emma spotted a glint of silver about his neck, and for lack of anything else to talk about, she pointed it out.

"What is that?" she asked delicately as she moved her unfinished plate away. Hook glanced at her, perplexed, and Emma tapped the gold metal of the swan around her neck, to direct him to the necklace around his own. Hook took the hint and tugged the pendant out of his shirt.

"It's a talisman," he told her as he held it out for her to inspect. Emma was forced to lean closer, but she took hold of it and narrowed her eyes to see it better in the awkward lighting. It looked like a cross. As in, the religious one, the Holy Spirit and eternal damnation and all of that. Emma hadn't considered religion in the Enchanted Forest. One of many things she hadn't considered, honestly. It was burnished metal, heavier than she was expecting. Of all the things she'd been expecting to see around the pirate's neck, this was a surprise. The guy didn't seem super religious, after all. The chain it was on didn't match the cross itself, as if the first chain had broken and he'd put it on another. The cross was burnished, too, it looked old and worn all at once.

"Talisman?" Emma asked as she eyed her companion, the pendant still in her grasp. The thing was not pretty, but for some reason she found it intriguing. It looked like it had lived a long life, maybe different lives as it was remelted and reformed into new things. It had presence, and history. Still, talisman seemed like an odd word for a cross.

Hook doesn't answer for a long moment, watching her. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, and it made her a little wary. Why was he thinking so hard about a simple question? He plucked it out of her hand and she did not try to stop him. It seemed as if the pirate was through with that conversation and that was his business, really. Instead, he pulled off the necklace and dropped it in her hand.

"It's magic, darling. It protects from bodily injury." Emma was automatically skeptical, even though at this point she should have known better. She knew magic existed; she had personally come to that painful conclusion already. What was so absurd about Hook wearing a cross that protected him from harm? She inspected it, as if she might see the magic if she looked hard enough, or feel it pulsing beneath her fingertips. She felt neither.

"How does it work? Is this how that arrow wound healed so quickly?" Emma had been avoiding bringing that wound up, but with this presented to her so perfectly, she had to ask. Healing that quickly... that was impossible. Or at least, it should be. Magic made many impossible things reality. If his magical charm really had done that for him, maybe she could wear it long enough to make her ankle manageable.

Emma watched him, impatient for the answer. He dallied in giving it, longer than she liked. "It's hard to explain. But I can show you, if you'd like."

"Show me?" Emma repeated, unable to keep her tone even. She should not have been so interested - but she was. A part of her was intrigued by the idea of magic, even if she still knew painfully little about it. Like a child that wanted to be convinced, maybe she was interested. A little.

"Yes. I'll show you, Swan, you just have to trust me." Emma swallowed at this, green eyes troubled. She didn't like how Hook kept bringing up trust; it made her uneasy. _Spare me a little trust. You'll just have to trust me._ Emma does not trust people, not easily anyway. And she does not trust well even when she does. It took her months to trust Mary Margaret, and Hook expected it after knowing him for a week? Did he even know what he was asking?

Despite his request for far more than she wanted to give, Emma slowly nodded. What has she got to lose? Her ankle was too far gone, and even if she did not want to admit it out loud, climbing a beanstalk was an unlikely prospect when she had trouble simply _walking_. If this would help her, it was worth the shot. "Okay, Jones," she agreed with a nod. "Show me."


	19. Chapter 19

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

* * *

...what I'd be without you.

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

He was rather surprised that she was willing to go along with him on this. The idea of Emma Swan in his head was of one too reluctant to put her faith in anything or anyone, let alone into even trying to trust him, especially something as finicky as magic. However, Emma's face was set and determined. Swan just kept surprising him; the more time he spent with her, the more it happened.

"What do I have to do?" Emma asked immediately as she offered the charm back. She clearly believed that he would be the one to conduct the magic. Oh, if she only knew the truth.

"Come here, Swan," he directed. A part of him expected her to rebuke him for coming on to her, and the expression on her face made that reaction seem all the more likely. However, instead the blonde inched closer, within arm's reach, and watched him expectantly.

This was a fairly dangerous game he was playing, and Swan watched him like a lioness eyeing her prey, which only made what he was attempting harder. He reached out for her leg, and she let him move it in between them. He moved to roll up the rough linen of the trousers she was wearing and it does something to him seeing her wearing them, knowing that he had grabbed them for her. Her green eyes burned through him, and her ankle was a violent shade of purple, clearly not something she should have been walking on in the first place. That she had managed to clamber after him all day is truly impressive. Not to say he hadn't noticed her struggling, despite her valiant attempts at hiding it.

"Now what?" Emma asked, and a hint of curiosity in her voice. He sighed, reaching out for her hand. She let him, and Emma watched as he fidgeted with the charm. He pressed it into the center of her palm, and made sure the chain was mostly out of the way. "Is that it? Do I have to sing or something? Or say Our Father a couple times?" Hook does not quite understand the comments but he could tell that Swan was attempting sarcasm.

"No," He stated dryly, as he led her hand to the painful looking bruise that circled her ankle. She tried to keep herself from wincing, but he heard it in the sharp intake of breath even if she doesn't let herself show the pain. "Now close your eyes."

Emma straightened and pulled her hand back. "Wait, what? Why?" Her green eyes narrowed, and as always it was like one step forward only to fall eight steps back. What in the world was she afraid of, him molesting her the second those lovely green eyes shuttered closed?

"Darling, I _don't_ _know_. Perhaps the magic is shy. It is what it is. Do you want to learn or not?" Emma frowned, and he could hear the chain rattling as she fidgeted with the decidedly un-magical necklace in her hand. Despite her misgivings, Swan slowly moved to place the metal back against her skin. It took her longer to close her eyes, but after a pace she did that, too. Not completely, at first, but after a couple seconds she held them tightly closed.

"I feel like an idiot," She informed him, and he thought that perhaps she was wise to feel foolish, considering he hardly knew what he was doing, either. He knew the girl was magic, yes. He had seen Cora heal someone before (himself, actually), and thought that he could possibly direct her through the process. However, he does not know for sure. What if Swan's magic was completely related to self defense? Or works far differently than the Queen of Hearts? He was aware of all the ways it might backfire, as the girl using magic that does not know about (and he was quite certain that she doesn't, though he hadn't asked) could easily go wrong. He was hardly the best teacher for coaching her through anything magical, considering the he had not even the most remote of magical inklings.

Perhaps he was too desperate to test her limits, to see what she was capable of, as dangerous as it was. It hadn't been that long since the Wraith, but when he tried to look back and imagine it, the more absurd it seemed. Even if he could still see the tips of the wraiths bony fingers burned into Swan's skin, peeking out from under the collar of her shirt. As insane as it sounded, it had certainly happened. Jones might have been playing with fire but he still could not stop himself. He was curious as to what Swan could do, how useful she could be, but to say the least he had to tread carefully. He did not want to end up like the wraith, after all.

"Emma, you do realize magic will only work when you believe it will, yes? Retire that charming skepticism for five minutes." She frowned, but didn't throw up another protest, and seemed to be waiting for further instruction. "Now, you need to focus. Think of what you want to happen, and what you want to heal. Remember what it is you want, and imagine it to be so." The blonde kept her eyes closed, even biting her lip in concentration, but as far as he could tell, there was no visible effect. If she had managed it, he would see it, would he not? A glow, something, anything. His good hand closed over hers, and she stiffened, but Emma did not open her eyes.

"_Believe_, Emma. You need to believe in it, in yourself. Imagine it, healing, and make it so." Emma worried her lips, eyes closed even tighter than before. Her hand moves under his, and he knows she is pressing the pendant into the bruise, as if the metal itself will heal her. And suddenly, she pulled her hand away. It was a sharp, sudden movement. Her green eyes were wide, surprised, but when she moved her fingers against the dark and still visible bruise, her eyes darkened yet again.

"It's not working," She muttered, tone past frustrated. It was defeated. She moved to take his hand and turned it upwards, returning the pendant to his palm, before closing his fingers overtop. He could see the disappointment in her eyes, even by the dim light of the fire.

"Perhaps it was only meant for pirates," He tried, but Emma was staring at the fire, and he wasn't sure the girl was even listening to him. It was a frustrating game, to try and teach her magic without addressing the fact she had it. He had a feeling if he told her that she killed the wraith herself, she would not believe him anyway. He had seen it with his own eyes and he could still hardly believe it. And the idea that he had saved her is what compelled her to trust him - or, it had at least started to force her hand, making her more invested to try. Hook knew that Emma's resolve was weakening, a little more every day. He wasn't sure why he was pushing so hard. It shouldn't have mattered to him whether Emma trusted him or not. Perhaps he just considered it a challenge, to see if he could get under her walls, just to know that it was possible.

He tries not to entertain the possibility that he might like to have someone trust him, _actually trust him_, for the first time in centuries.

He put his trinket back on, and Swan shifted, grabbing one of the bags and pulling out some of the linen wrappings. Apparently, having given up on magical healing, she had decided to resort to the more conventional sort. He reached out to seize the bandages, and she sighed.

"Really? I don't need a nurse, Captain," she stated, but there wasn't a lot of fight in her voice, he could hear the weariness. It was a first, to actually see her slightly defeated. Believing in something seemed so difficult for her, and to be disappointed when she actually put forth the effort had clearly affected her.

"You don't need one, but come on. A man at your service, Swan, and you'd really say no?" Emma's expression said clearly that yes, yes she would, so he sweetened the pot. "What if I give you that flask you were angling for earlier?"

The blonde tried to keep her expression impassive, but he knew he had her by the spark in those brilliant green eyes. Emma attempted to look reluctant, but she gave up quickly, holding out a hand. "Deal." He fished the flask out of his pocket and placed it in her palm, and the speed with which she opened it to take a drink was a little alarming.

And the wince she gave immediately after sampling the rum was rather charming to heartless old men such as himself.

"Shit," Swan said, and she gave a short and abrupt shiver, but he could see a hint of a smile on her face. "This stuff is seriously strong." Emma placed her leg in his lap expectantly, not paying him much mind as he started to wrap her ankle.

"Just rum, I assure you," he replied, not entirely sure what she was implying by calling it strong. Emma shook her head, pausing to smell the liquor.

"That's..." She doesn't even finish her thought before knocking back another mouthful. She continues her thought after finishing, or at least he assumed the statement is a continuation of the first. "It's not like the rum back home."

Jones finds himself curious, even if he shouldn't be. He wonders often what Emma's world is like. Even as a man who has been to many worlds, the idea of going to a new one is always intriguing to him. He does not have the capacity to see new things frequently, and it was one of the things he could still claim to enjoy. He wondered if he would like her world. If he would have to stay there terribly long before he found his Crocodile. He still thought Swan knew more on that count than she claimed but he had not the time nor the desire to press her on the matter. Yet, anyway.

Emma surprised him by offering the flask. Hook hadn't been expecting her to share, but he wasn't about to complain. It was_ his_ rum, after all. The burn was familiar and pleasant, and he wished they were on his ship. Even if he polished off the entire flask, he wouldn't have even reached tipsy. He wondered absently what kind of tolerance Swan had. He returned the flask to her and she nursed it instead of taking another mouthful. He focused his attention on the slim calf in his lap instead.

His job was to wrap her ankle, but his eyes moved to a spot just under her knee. His hand strayed upwards, and his rough fingers ran along the silvered skin of a very old scar. Swan shifted, and his eyes returned to her face. She was now looking at the scar now and her expression she wore was one he'd never seen on her before.

"How did you get that?" he asked, as his fingers continued to trace it. It was quite a large scar, jagged and harsh. Even if it was older now, he could tell that it was a beast of an injury when it was new.

"I fell," she said, automatically, and he could tell she was lying. He frowned, frustrated with her knee-jerk evasiveness.

"Swan, you needn't tell me if you don't want to, but don't lie." The blonde caught his eye, and her expression was troubled. Wary, confused, guilty... and a hint of something else... fear? Emma looked away and swallowed another gulp of rum, which he took as a none too subtle hint that she was through with the conversation. He was quite surprised that she hadn't pushed his hand away yet, as she was usually so particular about him keeping his hand to himself.

"It was a door." Emma's words were sudden, and her voice surprisingly soft. Her eyes stayed on the scar, as if he might not be able to read her expression if she avoided his eyes. "A car door. You probably don't even know what that is, but it's like a carriage, I guess. Made of metal. I was seven, and I'd just been put in a new foster home. The family was nice, and they had a kid. I'd never had a brother before, and I... I was stupid. I thought, if I did what he said, you know, then he'd like me. Then they'd let me stay." Her voice carried a hint of a quaver to it, but she continued. "He told me that he wanted to play chicken. That I had to hold my leg in the door and if I got scared, then I had to say I was a baby and he would stop. And I didn't want him to think I was a baby."

Emma paused, taking a breath, and he wasn't sure that she would continue. A part of him wasn't sure he wanted her to continue. He hadn't guessed what kind of story the scar held when he asked. Even though he hates himself for the weakness, he doesn't want her to think of things that upset her. And it's clear that this does, and how could it not? Even if she was trying to hide it, he can feel the pain in her voice. It reminded him of lost boy he was a long time ago, as much as he hated to remember how he used to be.

"So I held my leg in the door. And he slammed the door shut. He didn't even try to do it slowly, just fucking _slammed_ it. I tried not to scream, because if his parents knew he didn't like me, then they'd send me back. But then he did it again." She sighed, a heavy shattering one, and it was like a release. She closed her eyes for a moment, but then she looked at him, and her expression was unguarded but it was dark and a little dangerous. "He did it about five times before one of them made it out to stop him."

He traced the scar, the memory, and is astounded all the more that Emma had not pulled her leg away yet, even still. Hook is rarely a man that cannot think of something to say, but Emma does seem to be singularly talented in bringing it out of him. What can he say to her, really, that could ease her pain? Nothing. There was no answer, no easy fix, to what she had gone through. It was too far in her past, and her experiences had left her with scars far deeper than the one resting under his thumb.

There is no fix for what ails both of them, the way the past has marred them and changed them. He does not even have to ask to know that this is not the only scar she has. He wondered how many more had dark and desperate origins, how many she'd gotten before she decided to seal herself from the world behind her walls. Was this the one that was the catalyst, turning her from a little girl into what she was now? Not likely, he guessed. Or she wouldn't have told him. He'd bet that that was a scar not visible to the eye, one buried in her heart instead.

Killian catches her eye, and Emma does not look away. That she had yet to physically move him away is quite odd, but he starts to wonder if there is a reason for it. Perhaps Emma Swan did not want him to stop? Not even she can keep her walls up all the time. His hand moves away from her scar, down her leg, and at no point does she protest. He leans forward and presses his lips to the scars jagged edges in hopes of willing away the hurt.

He has nothing to tell her that will make things better. It is too late for that now; the internal scars from her injury cannot be made better, not by his words. Emma's past cannot be changed. However, he understood her pain, perhaps even better than she realized. He has his own scars, even though it's been centuries since he received them, they all still ache in their own way.

When he moves away, he cannot read her expression. She seemed to be knitting herself back together, afraid of showing too much, of allowing him too close. Emma pulled her leg back to herself, fingers moved to finish fixing her bandage on her own. The silence seems to stretch between them and he would not be the one to break it.

"We should go to sleep," her voice sounded softer than he's used to, but it seemed confident all the same. "We have a long day tomorrow, right?"

The pirate was not exactly tired, but he nods. "The beanstalk is not terribly far from here, my dear. We shall be meeting a giant on the morrow." He does not miss the hint of reluctance in her expression, but whatever she is wary of, she does not voice. Emma nodded silently, before rising on her own and returning to where her blanket still remained. He watched her go, but keeps his place by the fire. Jones has not slept easily in a very long time, centuries in fact. He intended to keep his post at the fire, a silent and lonely vigil, but is surprised when a small form settles next to him.

Swan looked cautious, like a deer footsteps from a hunter's trap. She was immediately next to him though and close enough that he could smell the soap she had used to wash her hair. She leaned into him with a shoulder, in a gentle prod. "You're not going anywhere, right? I don't have to handcuff you?"

He turned to look at her, and he wished for a very short moment that he could convince Swan that he didn't intend to leave her. He knows cannot convince her, though, because he's still not sure himself and she seems to smell a lie from a mile away.

"Darling, if you intend to restrain me again, I believe you'll have to give me far more motivation," he reminded, as he could still remember how she enticed him into her trap before. He'll need far more than that. Emma looked unimpressed by his showmance, so he is forced to add, "I'm not going anywhere." Not tonight, not while he still needed her, though this raises plenty of questions on _how _he needs her at all. Regardless, he would not be going anywhere tonight.

"Okay," she agreed, and it sounded treacherously like she believed him. She nudged him again, before gesturing, "I want the side by the fire."

The pirate prided himself on being quick-witted, but even he required a moment to realize that Swan intended to sleep next to him. His immediate reaction was to flirt with her, say something lecherous enough that even Swan would have to blush in response. Probably elbow him, or smack him, and then get as far away as possible. Somehow, the quip died before he could voice it. He found he rather liked her right where she was, and he would not be the one to give her a reason to run.

Instead, he moved over a little, so Swan could have the spot nearest the fire. He even obligingly got down, so she would not have to feel uncomfortable to be the one doing it first. Hook was not sure if he was actually even tired, or if sleep would find him. However, even if the request was an odd one, he would honor it. He had not slept next to someone since… Well, since he'd slept next to Emma herself in that cabin. He'd been chained to her at the time, but it was still far superior to sleeping alone. Emma looked at him, nerves rather obvious on her face, fingers knitting in the roughly spun blanket.

"Are you even cold?" Emma wondered, seeming possessive of the blanket. Hardly fair, considering he'd been the one to steal it.

"I'll be fine, Swan. Just leave me to freeze far from the fire and without a blanket, to boot," he replied blandly, and Emma gave him a dark look, but she gave up part of the blanket. He wasn't even sure he needed it, the blonde was right that he was not particularly cold, but he accepted it anyway. He was about to tease her and wonder if she intended to fall asleep sitting up until she finally moved to lie next to him.

"No funny business," she warned him, shifting as she attempted to get comfortable and ultimately failing.

"I really cannot help it, I am just amusing by my very nature," he informed her. Emma gave him a wry look that might have even had a tinge of amusement if one knew where to look.

"That's not what I meant," Emma murmured, fatigue clearly setting in. Her eyes tilted towards the fire again, perhaps because it was easier than looking at him. "Remind me to give you a crash course on modern terms in the morning. Because you are up to far too much funny business to not know what it means."

"I do so hope that's a promise," he replied, and Emma smiled. Emma did not seem to smile terribly often, but the few he did earn only made him want to work for another.

She turned back towards him, pulling a hand from under the blanket and extending her pinky. "Pinky promise."

He tilted his head, admiring her hand for a moment, before glancing back at her. He hadn't the slightest idea what she meant. "A pinky what, darling?"

Emma tossed him a surprised glance. "You really don't know what a pinky promise is?" she asked, tone incredulous.

"Well I am a pirate after all, we tend to seal things with rum, blood or kisses," he reminded her seriously. And that was true, he much preferred to seal his deals that way. "If you'd like to try one of those, may I suggest the last option?"

Emma looked unimpressed. She shook her hand seriously, before demanding, "Put your hand out, and extend your pinky." He attempted to look aggravated by the request, but Swan was surprisingly skilled at getting him to do things he would not usually do. He offered his hand, pinky extended, and Emma moved to circle hers around his. "See? Not so hard. And not nearly as messy as those pirate options."

"Not as fun either," he told her, and Emma laughed and he felt his heart rate pick up. It was nice to see that she could relax around him enough to be amused, she seemed to always veer away from any sort of reaction that was not annoyed or disinterested in relation to him. Emma released his hand, quickly ducking hers back under the blanket.

"Maybe next time," she teased, and if he was not mistaken, the blonde head leaned onto his shoulder and Emma did not make any attempt to remove it. He wondered if she even noticed, or if it had been a sleepy mistake. When her arms moved around his arm, it seemed unlikely it was unintentional. Hook glanced in the blonde's direction, and she looked back at him, clearly wary. "Shut up. I'm cold."

He wasn't sure if that was the entirety of her motivation, but her fingers did seem quite chill. He would not press her that it was an excuse, because he did not want her to move back to a proper distance, either.

"I see how it is, Swan. Quite the little leech," he admonished, removing his arm. The look on her face was dark and humiliated and quite heartbreaking for a few moments until Swan realized that he was holding it open, so she might get closer. He could practically taste her hesitation and reluctance, but Emma surprised him again as she inched in next to his side, and did not so much as flinch when he put an arm around her.

"It's not my fault that you're in head to toe leather," she condemned, voice soft but at this proximity he could have heard a whisper. "You're like a space heater or an electric blanket." Hook could not claim to know what either of those things were, but he could not argue that Swan was quite cold, either. If she wanted to justify being close to him as needing to steal his warmth, he would not complain. He had not had a woman willingly this close to him in an incredibly long time, and a part of his cold, black heart missed it. "And seriously, no funny business. You pinky-promised, that shit is unbreakable."

"Well, you might have warned me that this pinky-promise was such an impenetrable oath lass," he said seriously. "I will be the utmost gentleman, Swan, you have my word." Though he was unsure if that promise would be easily kept. Emma then tucked her arms about herself and he felt her lean into his side. It was closer than he'd been to anyone in decades, and far closer than he'd ever imagined he'd get to Emma Swan. Though he does feel a strange pang of disappointment at her not placing them around him seemed to settle in his chest.

"Yeah, you'd better," she warned with a distinct yawn and a gentle poke to his side. "Or you're going to have no hands left mister."

"Well I am rather attached to the lone survivor," he let out a soft chuckle. He didn't believe for a moment that Emma would actually relieve him of his hand, or he might have been a little annoyed. For all her bluster, Swan had yet to actually make good on any of her promises to maim him. "As much as I enjoy pillow-talk with you, beautiful, if we intend to get some sleep tonight you'll have to be quiet long enough to actually fall asleep."

"Shut up," came her muffled reply, but her tone lacked its usual bite. She shifted closer, and he felt her shoulders as they rose and fell in a sigh. "Good night, Jones," Emma murmured into the leather of his coat, and he felt his grip around her shoulders had involuntarily tightened.

"Good night, Emma," he replied, finding he meant the words far more than he would enjoy admitting. Emma did not respond, and though it was not immediate, eventually her breathing evened out to indicate she had fallen asleep. He had not been sure she'd be brave enough to sleep next to him. He had been almost certain that she would linger on the edge of awareness until she thought him to be asleep, too wary of the possibilities sleeping next to him offered. That Emma had extended enough trust in him to sleep next to him without even waiting for him to fall asleep first, that she did not see any need to wait for the safety of him being too unconscious to try anything before she was confident enough to sleep herself, hit him surprisingly hard.

He is not even sure he deserved that trust. In fact, the longer he dwelled on it, the more certain he is that he doesn't. Killian Jones does not find sleep as easily as the woman wrapped up in his arms, but there's just something about her steady breathing, and the way she inches closer to him as she sleeps that makes him feel at peace. It is as though even subconsciously she is no longer afraid to be close to him, and that peace finally lulls him into the deep abyss along with her.


	20. Chapter 20

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

Emma was getting far too accustomed to waking up on uncomfortable surfaces. It doesn't seem fair that she has only slept in a bed twice since her arrival in the Enchanted Forest. Especially considering that technically, she was a princess. She had a right to a bed so soft and luxurious that she could feel a pea underneath, damnit, and sleeping on the ground freezing her ass off did not seem very royal at all. The cool air that drifted off the lake made the idea of returning back to sleep more and more difficult. Emma wearily opened an eye, observing that it was early enough that the sun was definitely up. Other than that, she had no idea what time it was. The blonde shifted into a sitting position, trying to shake off sleep. Where was the pirate? He had been...

Right next to her.

Emma swallowed, as the events of the previous night slowly started flooding back to her with uncomfortable clarity. Talking about things she had not needed to talk about. Pirates kissing scars that definitely did not require kissing. And of course, last but not least, the brain-breaking fact that she'd snuggled up to the Captain with only the pathetic excuse of being cold to fall back on. Emma grimaced, covering her face with her hands. That had all happened, hadn't it? It wasn't some weird surreal dream. Nope. As much as she'd have liked to pretend, Emma was pretty sure that now she even _smelled_ like the pirate. Oh, god. This was bad. Bad bad _bad. _Why had she taken that rum? Why did she always get so handsy with only an ounce of liquor in her? She couldn't even use being drunk as an excuse. She hadn't had enough rum to condone using the pirate as a pillow. Jones definitely hadn't had enough rum to spontaneously forget her behavior the morning after, either.

What the hell had she been thinking? Sidling up to Hook was a terrible idea. In no way did it assist her, or their partnership. Emma had told him about a part of her past nobody needed to know. Something she had never confided in anyone, not even Neal. Why had she told him that? Hook did not need to know that story. He didn't need to know _anything _about her, but especially that. He did not need to know a thing about her past, and she had told him about something so dark and secret and personal. He hadn't even said anything.

He hadn't said anything, granted, but she can remember the understanding in his eyes all too well. Almost as well as she remembered the way her nerves fired up at the feeling of his lips on her skin, the jolt their contact had caused in her body.

Emma gave a frustrated whimper, scrubbing at her face with her hands. Oh, god. She was so unbelievably stupid. Like, _award winning_ stupid. In the afterlife, she was probably going to get a trophy for this one. There was something wrong with her. What was in that _rum?_

"My dear, I appreciate your attempts at modesty, but honestly. You can look, I don't mind." Emma jolted her head up, eyes immediately finding the pirate. Who was standing about five feet away, currently shirtless? It took her a few more seconds to realize he was missing a lot of clothes, not just his shirt. He was missing almost all of them, in fact.

Emma's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. Okay, so she was definitely looking at a half naked, wet Captain Hook right now, wasn't she? Was this a dream? Because it looked like it could have been. If he dropped that cloth and started purring seductively about her walking his plank she would have been certain she was dreaming. Hook looked at her expectantly, shaking some water from his hair, before giving her a wolfish grin.

"See? Not such a terrible view," he pointed out, and _oh god this was not a dream. _Emma averted her eyes quickly. She could practically feel Hook smirking at her, but nope. She was not going to look again. Or consider the idea that she had been immediately okay with having a sex dream about him wherein him saying tacky cliché piratey dirty talk was okay. Or think about how hot he was for three hundred. Or-

Oh god. This day had barely started and Emma was already exhausted by it.

"Would you put some clothes on?" She asked, wishing she had something available to throw at him as incentive. It was probably a good thing that Hook had bothered to bathe - that was what he'd been doing, she had to assume. Or he had gone for a swim in the lake he had seemed so unimpressed by yesterday. Whatever he had been up to, it wasn't important, not as imperative as his need to get dressed. "I thought you were too good for lakes," Emma snipped, attempting to hide how much his current state of undress was affecting her.

Emma glanced back in his direction, trying to prove that half naked pirates did not bother her. Her eyes zeroed in on his midsection. He was pretty cut for such an old man. Her eyes focused on a drop of water, following it as it traced a trail downwards and-

Nope, no more looking at naked pirates. Emma looked down, returning to covering her face with her hands. She was safest this way.

"Well then. I never said that, just that the ocean is better. And we both know I'm correct in that." Emma could hear him moving around, hopefully making good on her request to clothe himself, but she refused to move her hands until she was confident she wouldn't get an eyeful. "You don't know this about me, but I'm much like a fish. Have to get in the water when I see it. It's no ocean but it was a fine swim all the same. I would have invited you to join me if you were a lighter sleeper, but if I didn't know better I'd have mistaken you for dead, Swan."

Emma grimaced underneath her hands. What could she say to that? 'Sorry that two sips of your rum made me lonely and clingy'? If there was any sort of God, he would smite her for her own good right about now. Emma did not bother with embarrassed often but apparently she was not incapable, as burning pink graced her cheeks. She considered herself lucky that hidden behind her hands, the pirate could not see the hints of her shame.

"I didn't realize pirates cared so much about hygiene." Emma fell back on baiting him, because that was easier than discussing using him as a heating pad replacement. She could not argue that she had been sleeping heavily, which was rare for her. She had not even noticed him getting up. Emma was usually quite the light sleeper, a relic from her life in foster care, but she told herself that the rum had something to do with it. She wondered how long the pirate had been awake.

"Not all of them, granted, but I am a spectacular example in many ways, would you not agree?" Emma would have liked to roll her eyes to punctuate how unimpressed she was by his arrogance but the cretin was far too aware of the fact that he was attractive. So what, he was good looking. Lots of assholes were. Didn't mean anything. Nothing at all. She attempted to keep herself from thinking about how she had slept the entire night nuzzled up next to him, but she failed spectacularly. "All right then, Swan. I am _decent_," Hook informed her. Emma warily peeked around her fingers but the pirate had at least put pants on. There was no excuse for hiding her eyes like a shamed schoolgirl now. She dropped her hands but pointedly avoided looking at him. "Your silence wounds me. Do you truly find me so unbearable?"

Emma barked a laugh despite herself. "Are you seriously trying to fish for compliments right now?" she wondered incredulously. Hook sent her a look that might have convinced a more gullible soul that he was genuinely offended. Emma was not buying it for a second. "I don't think you need me to boost up that ego, buddy, you seem to do that swimmingly on your own."

Hook considered this, before throwing her a boyish grin. "I do love the pirate terminology from you, darling. If you were to say, 'oh captain, my captain' I would be truly lost." Emma had not realized until he pointed it out. _Swimmingly, fishing... _She grimaced slightly.

"I'm more likely to introduce you to Davy Jones," Emma replied flatly, fingers moving to her hair. She had braided it after her swim but it was in need of some repair before they set off.

"Davy has been desperate to meet me for centuries, and not lucky enough to accomplish it yet," Hook told her seriously, shrugging into the dark cloth of his shirt. Emma frowned slightly, as she certainly was not serious. She had no intentions of hurting Hook, even if he was a pain sometimes. An apology, of all things, lingered on the tip of her tongue, but the pirate continued before she had a chance to voice it. "You'd be quite the pirate, Swan, mark my words."

Emma wasn't too sure about that. She hadn't spent a lot of time on boats, but all the times she had she'd gotten spectacularly seasick. However, Hook sounded surprisingly genuine when he said it, without a hint of condescension or manipulation. Emma wasn't sure why she felt pleased.

"Why's that?" she wondered, as Hook began to work on his buttons. He fumbled with them, surprisingly, considering he'd been without his other hand for so long. Emma moved to her feet quickly and walked towards him, brushing his hand to the side to set to work on the buttons herself. The pirate did not voice a single word of protest. She looked at him expectantly as her fingers fastened a button and brushed accidently against his chest. Emma ignored the unsteady beat of her heart racing at the contact. "What does it take to be a good pirate?"

Hook did not break their eye contact and eventually Emma broke and returned her eyes to her work. "Many things my dear, strength of spirit and determination of character." Emma considered these as she plucked at his buttons. Why did he have so many, when he only had one hand? "The capacity to curse up a storm."

Emma snorted at that. She definitely had that one covered. She had earned herself a few incredulous looks back in Storybrooke for her mouth. Snow herself had gently commented on Emma's colorful vocabulary a time or two. Emma's expression darkened a little, but she forced her mother out of her thoughts. Thinking of Mary Margaret right now probably wasn't wise. Emma had not cared enough about anyone to feel homesick since Neal. It was probably a good thing that she cared enough about her son and her parents to feel homesick, but it still ached unpleasantly in the pit of her stomach to be here without them. Missing them was not going to help her, so she pushed it aside.

"That's all it takes?" Emma wondered, abandoning the last couple of buttons. Hook watched her for a moment, before finishing the last few with remarkable ease considering how he had struggled with them before. It took a moment to sink in. "Little shit," but despite her eyes narrowing, even she could not hide a slight amount of amusement that lingered in her voice, as she reached out to swat him. Hook threw her a boyish grin, clearly not apologetic for tricking her. The grin suited him far better than the smirks or the lecherous stares.

"A good bit of knowing how to make others think what you want them to never hurts." Hook clearly had not needed assistance with his buttons, but it wasn't as if he had asked her for help, either. How he'd been able to tell that she would even care if he struggled was beyond her, but he had and he wasn't wrong. For all her independence, Emma liked to help people. While Emma generally didn't care for being tricked, it reminded her of Neal. Neal would always pull shit like that, bumping his head and groaning about _oh babe it hurts so much _until she came to kiss it better. Even if Emma had learned to see through his act, she hadn't minded. Neal would pretend to need her and she would be there to help him. A part of her had enjoyed being wanted, needed. She hadn't minded it coming from Neal, and though maybe it should have, the pirate pulling a similar trick didn't bother her, either.

"But don't you worry, Swan, you're quite skilled at that yourself." Emma wouldn't argue on that point. She had been forced to learn that skill long ago, and Neal had only helped her to refine it. Making people think she was someone she was not had helped her a lot, and the blonde hair didn't hurt. Anyone who knew her would not believe she could play a ditzy, airhead blonde, but Emma was actually pretty good at it. She'd learned far too well how to make people see what she wanted them to rather than what was actually there. She'd even based a career off of it. Though, in the end, Emma wasn't sure that her capacity to manipulate people was to be commended.

"Thanks. I think. Still, I think I'm better off on dry land. I don't really have sea legs." Emma had been to a handful of yacht parties and none of them had ended well. Chasing convicts in heels on a yacht? The movies made that one look easier than it really was.

"Your legs seem steady to me, Swan," the pirate replied idly, glancing downwards. Emma frowned, not realizing what he meant. Well, duh, she was on land. That was her entire point. It took her a moment before she realized that he was implying something else, and for once it wasn't sexual. Emma opened her mouth, but was too stunned to say anything. Unless she really was dreaming, she had walked on her ankle without an ounce of pain. Her mouth felt rather dry, but instead of responding Swan paced backwards and sat down. It took her a minute to unwind the bandages, but the skin that was underneath was completely clear. No bruise, no swelling, nothing.

The blonde was too flabbergasted to really comment, and she stretched her leg out and stared intently at the ankle as if that might make it easier to accept. Hook's pirate trinket had healed her? That had honestly happened? Emma felt nearly dizzy.

She had felt strangely last night, pressing the metal into her skin. Emma had ignored it at first but as it intensified, she'd gotten wary and pulled away. It had been an odd feeling, like heat moving through her hands and on to another part of her. It must have been the magic working, the pendant healing her injury. The shock wore off slowly, and Emma glanced up at Hook with a surprisingly bright expression. She could hardly believe it had worked, but it had, the proof was spread before them. And it was thanks to his pirate trinket that her ankle was fixed. Before she could say a word, however, she noticed the dark cast to his face. He was looking past her, and the guarded expression on his face meant he saw something. Something that he didn't like and he did not want her to realize it.

Emma snapped around, trying to spot the something behind them, but all she saw was an empty and dark forest. Emma frowned; eyes narrowing as if that might help her spot whatever had set the pirate on edge. There was nothing, nothing that she could see anyway. Trees, sky, a couple birds… Nothing that set of any warning bells for the sheriff. When Emma turned back, baffled, Hook was elbowing into his coat, expression schooled once more. Emma didn't know what to make of it. Had she just imagined that, or had he been looking at something? There was nothing behind her to _see_, but she had been so certain by the expression on his face. Emma wasn't sure when she learned to read the pirate so well, but he had seen something, and was now pretending he hadn't.

A slick feeling of unease settled over her, and Emma pulled her legs in closer to herself. She did not get much of a chance to consider the implications, as Hook started packing away their things, clearly intent on setting out. Emma didn't stop him, instead focusing on getting her boots on so she would be ready to go as well. A part of her wanted to talk to him, about the pendant working on her ankle, or other requirements for being a pirate, or even making good on her promise to teach him some modern terms. Something, anything, to break the uncomfortable silence that had stretched over them but instead, that dark creeping feeling clung to her like a shadow. She did not need to make friends with Hook, there was no point in it. After they got the compass, she'd use him for information and be done with him. Maybe get him to tell her a way to restore Lake Nostros, and then she'd make her way to the castle on her own.

She shouldn't be getting closer to him than she had to. It was like playing with fire and Emma did not have it in her to get burned again. Hook had just proven he could shut her out and it stung more than Emma wanted to think about. She shouldn't have cared that much that Hook refused to be honest with her, but the fact that he was trying to hide something bit at her heels, impossible to ignore. For all their progress, in the end they were just disguising the truth with friendly gestures. Maybe she was so tired of being alone that for a little while, she had wanted to pretend there was something there growing between them. Their goals were separate, though, and sooner or later, their partnership would have to separate as well.

Emma watched him for a moment, a pang of something like regret gnawing at her. Hook was too focused on his work to even notice, all focus and drive. He looked more his age than she had ever seen him in all the time they'd spent together. Emma forced herself back into movement, catching up and moving to help him finish packing up.

This partnership was temporary, and it would do her well to remember that.

* * *

It had not been long since that discussion with Gold, but to Snow it felt like it had been weeks.

She did not feel much like herself anymore, and apparently she was not the only one to think so. She could read it on the faces of the people around her. The worried cast to Red's eyes, even though her friend acted as if nothing was amiss. The way Henry avoided her, leaving the room quickly after she entered it, or only responding when she spoke to him. Charming, her sweet and darling and _dense_ husband, who could not hide his concern even if he tried. Charming, as he held her and whispered into her hair that they did not need Gold, that they did not need anyone but themselves. _There is another way_, he promised her. _We don't need him_.

Mary Margaret no longer believed that.

It ate away at her like acid, chewing through her senses and self-control. Snow had trouble focusing on anything that but how keenly she missed her daughter, or the fact that they could possibly find her, save her – if they had _only_ made the deal. It was not her deal to make but Gold had the capacity all the same. There was a possibility, if they had only taken it.

What could he possibly want from Henry that would be so terrible? Gold was a dark, malicious man, but he would never harm a child. Snow was naively confident in this, absurdly certain. She would not allow Henry to be harmed in saving Emma. Emma would never forgive her for that, and Snow loved her grandson. She was not looking to trade one loved one for another. Still, Snow had made a deal with Gold before. Everyone in Storybrooke had. His deals were not enjoyable, but they weren't lethal, either. Not usually. What if all Gold wanted was a lock of Henry's hair, or a tear? They didn't _know_ what he wanted, and the not knowing was slowly killing her. It was entirely possible that only a small fee would win them the assistance they so desperately needed to save Emma, but everyone was too afraid to even consider it.

Charming told her in no uncertain terms that they would not discuss the deal with Henry. They both knew Henry too well. The boy would accept whatever terms he was offered to get Emma back. Snow understood that. Henry was much like Emma in that, he was quite strong and very giving, and would not think of the implications before he agreed to the deal. It was up to her and Charming to protect him, their responsibility as his grandparents.

If Henry knew about the deal, then he would make it. No matter what Gold asked for.

Still, Mary Margaret could not forget. As the days dragged by with no progress or news, a feeling inside her began to build. A dark, desperate feeling, clawing and cloying and painful. It hung on her like a cloak, and Snow could not shake it, and she tried to desperately. She couldn't eat and she hardly slept, as her thoughts would not deviate from the inevitable and the obvious.

If _only_ they knew what Gold wanted…

Snow stared at the door to Emma's room, eyes dark and determined. She faltered for a moment, before entering it. The smell was different now, as she feared it would be. Henry was settled on Emma's bed, the book Snow herself gave him (in another life, it seemed like) settled on the blanket next to him, but Henry wasn't reading. The boy's face is scrunched up, and instead his focus was on the blank space of the wall. He bolted upright seeing her at the doorway, looking around as if he might find an escape if he was creative enough.

"Sorry, Mary Margaret, I just…" the boy looked down at his too-big shoes and Mary Margaret broke a little at the tears the boy was trying so desperately to hide. "I'll get out. I'm sorry."

"Henry," Snow whispered as she hesitantly moved forward, like he might bolt if she got too close. His mother might have, Emma was so scared of people caring about her that she would run away from it at times. Henry did not run, however, even though she could see how tense and nervous he was. She dropped to her knees in front of him, taking his hands and pressing them between her own. The boy refused to look at her, but Snow was persistent. "Don't be sorry. You shouldn't be sorry. _I'm_ sorry." Henry sniffed, looking at her with those deep watery eyes. Brown, not green. Snow clasped his hands tighter and hoped he would believe her. "I'm sorry. I know that … that I haven't been here for you." Snow's voice cracked at the confession but she knew she was right, and unfortunately, so did the small boy before her.

"It's okay," Henry muttered, looking down again, but Snow knew that it was not okay. Neither of them believed that, even though they'd have liked to believe. Liked to pretend.

"It's not okay," Snow said, words and tone distinct. "None of this is okay. How I've been acting, that your mom is gone in the first place, none of it is okay. But I know that I have not been strong for you, and you need me to be." Snow opened her hands to press a kiss to one of Henry's smaller ones. "I'm sorry, Henry. I am. I'm so sorry. I just… it hurts to have her be gone and to not be able to help her."

The farther Snow went into the tangent, the worse she felt, but she couldn't stop herself. "I feel like I failed her, Henry. I was supposed to protect her, and I'm here safe and she's stuck there, alone, and I can't do anything. I need to help her, I _need_ to." Henry looked at her with dark but quiet eyes. "Do you understand? I'm _not_ mad at you, Henry. I'm not mad. I love you, I love you so much."

Henry nodded slowly, pulling his hands free. Snow kept her position, motionless. She could not force the boy to let her touch him, clearly. She felt distinctly guilty, dirty and wrong. She stared at the fabric of her skirt, eyes stinging, drowning in her loneliness when she felt his small arms around her neck. Henry's movement had not been a rejection, but a reassurance. Snow pulled the boy close and wondered when they had switched roles. Henry was the child; he was the one who needed comfort. Yet somehow he was hugging her, reassuring her.

"It's gonna be okay, Mary Margaret. It really will be," the small voice told her, and Snow gave a broken sob because she could not believe him. She couldn't believe it even from Henry, who would never lie to her. He believed it, she could feel it in his words, and she could feel his conviction and confidence. But she could not emulate it, she couldn't agree with it. Because she no longer believed that it would be okay, not when Charming said it, or Ruby, or Henry, or anyone else. It would not be okay, not until they tried everything they could to save Emma, and they had her baby back safely.

Snow was surprised by the touch of a large hand at her back, so lost in her misery that she could not feel anything else. Charming gripped her shoulder, gently, a reminder and a demand that did not need words. Snow released Henry, gingerly. Snow blinked through her tears, slowly realizing how hard she had been crying, and how terrified the small boy had been. She heard the warm rumble of Charming telling Henry something, but her brain does not process the words. Henry looked at them, wary, but he scrambled off the bed and moved away, escaping through the door with only a short glance back at them. Snow allowed Charming to pull her into his arms, leaned into him and tried to be reassured by his voice rumbling under her cheek. Tried, desperately tried, but failed.

"Snow, you have to stop this," her husband whispered, lips burning at her forehead. Snow simply closed her eyes. "You know we can't. We _can't_ let Henry go to Gold. You know that, don't you?"

Snow does know. She knows that Emma would never forgive them for putting Henry in danger. For putting him in that position, one that he was too young to truly understand. And yet… what choice did they have? Snow would rather Emma hate her than not have her at all.

"Charming," she whispered, placing her hands on either side of the strong jaw that she loved so much. She looked at him, eyes watery and frantic. Snow gave him a bitterly sad smile, weak where it ought to have been strong, running her thumb over his lips. "My love. Please, we just—"

"_No." _ Snow retracted from Charming like his tone burned, because it did. Her husband did not let her escape terribly far, his grip on her arms tight and almost painful. "Snow, no. This isn't you." Mary Margaret was breathless, baffled, but she realized after a heavy breath the manipulation that had laced her movements. She stared at her treacherous fingers, as if they had moved without her direction, but Snow knew deep down that they had not. Her cold crystal eyes snapped back to her husband's handsome face, but it did not reassure her as it always had. "You're not yourself, Snow. You need help."

Snow's expression crumbled because she couldn't deny anything that Charming was saying. It was true – she no longer felt like Snow White. She wasn't sure where or why the change occurred, but this devilish and desperate being, was not her. Worse, she was not sure that there was even hope that she could shake this darkness that was creeping in, taking over, changing her.

Her eyes closed gently as more useless tears traced their way down her pale cheeks, and she nodded. Charming wrapped his arms around her, an encompassing embrace that had always made her feel so warm, safe, protected and loved. Snow's tears continued to fall and she couldn't stop them because as warm, safe and loved as she felt, it was just no longer enough.


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: To respond to a question about how long this fic is going to be. Well... that's a good question. I do have a definite trajectory for it, and it will be on the long side. It has three defined parts, and we are almost through with the first part! I don't know exactly how many more chapters it will take, to be honest with you. Probably a lot. I know it takes a lot of dedication to follow a story that is so long, and I'm sorry about that. I'll do my best to get to the end sooner rather than later. _

_That said, we are starting to venture through stuff that is touched on in the show. I will use quotes that I remember from scenes, but do remember this is an AU! Not everything that happened in the show will happen in this fic. I'm having fun with taking my own path in that respect. You will definitely see some familiar situations in the next two chapters, though. Emma and Hook on the Beanstalk was my favorite part of S2. :) 9 days, everyone, I'm excited! It'll be interesting to see the show in Neverland, and it might adjust how I take the story.  
_

_Lastly, thank you to all of you for reading. It's incredible the response I've gotten for this fic and I know I've been slow, so I appreciate everyone that continues to read. _

* * *

**GOD ONLY KNOWS**

...what I'd be without you.

* * *

_I may not always love you_

_But long as there are stars above you_

_You never need to doubt it_

_I'll make you so sure about it... _

**God Only Knows, The Beach Boys**

* * *

"Well, I don't know what I was expecting," the blonde murmured, shading her eyes as she looked up at the towering plant set in front of them. Okay, yes. The plant before her was undeniably a giant beanstalk. It had an oddly haunted look, as it twisted and stretched up higher and higher, its vines snaking across the surface like snakes primed to snap. It was alive and tortured looking, and somehow it looked distinctly malicious, in a way that unsettled her to look at it. And worst of all, it was tall. As in, _insanely_ tall. The beanstalk was easily multiple stories, practically a skyscraper of a plant, stretching on and on into the sky. It even curled and curved like a rollercoaster, or one of those silly curly straws Henry liked to stick in his drinks. The end was not even in sight from her current position at the bottom. Looking at it now, Emma did not see how either of them had any hope of climbing it.

Not that it was going to stop them from trying, apparently, as the pirate had yet to suggest they give up the effort. Then again, he'd seen this beanstalk before; maybe it was less overwhelming to him. Emma was certainly not confident that either of them could climb it. There seemed to be so many ways for the trek they were undertaking to go suddenly and terribly wrong. Yet, they were both apparently dead set on making the climb regardless, for better or worse. She was still trying to decide on what exactly she wanted from him in exchange for her assistance, but she would likely ask him for instructions on finding Lake Nostos, and if there was any possibility of restoring it.

She hadn't induced any more migraines thinking about the Lake, thankfully. At least that was progress. Emma wasn't sure why she was determined to find the fabled lake, but for some reason she was. It seemed almost as important as finding a portal home. It was like the reason as to why was buried so deep within her own head she couldn't manage to find it.

It was maybe an uneven request compared to climbing a life-threatening plant for him, but maybe she could get something else out of the bargain. Information on Lake Nostos, and then his magical healing pirate charm. Now _that_ sounded a little more even, though Emma doubted he would go for that. Hook had probably used it a lot over three hundred years. That must have been how he'd healed so quickly after he'd been shot through and poisoned. He might be reluctant to let it go, but still. It was worth a shot.

"One would hope you were expecting a beanstalk," Hook's accented rumble came from behind her, where he was securing most of their things. They had agreed to carry only what they needed, and leave the rest behind. Now that Emma was up close and personal with the plant they intended to climb, the plan only made more sense. It was going to prove to be a hell of a climb with just her, her weapons, and a canteen of water at her back. She could hardly imagine it with a bag or two in tow.

"In my head, it seemed less ominous," Emma admitted, even though she felt a little foolish for confessing it. Hook chuckled at that, returning to her side. Emma reached out to touch the plant, before recoiling with a sharp gasp. Uh, ouch. "Is it supposed to do that?" She wondered, shaking her hand in hopes of returning feeling to her fingertips. It felt like she'd just touched an electric fence, sort of, only magical. Emma wondered if her hair was frizzy now.

"I suppose I neglected to mention it's been enchanted to discourage climbing," Hook said wryly. Emma turned to him, ready to light him up for wasting her time, when he took her hand. "Hold still then, love," he admonished, as her immediate reaction was to pull her hand back, which only resulted in the pirate's grip tightening. Emma forced herself to relax, and Hook watched her for a moment, like he was testing how long her patience with his touch would last, before he clasped a brace to her wrist. Emma blinked, but didn't stop him.

"I'm touched, but I'm really more of a gold jewelry kind of girl," she deadpanned, turning her wrist about to admire her new accessory. It was a weird mix of metal and leather, with a pattern stamped into it. She looked at him, expectant of an explanation why he was snapping bracelets onto her.

"Darling, I do promise I'll keep that in mind for the future. All the same, I hope you'll make an exception, seeing as that eyesore is charmed to keep you on the beanstalk." Emma couldn't say the bracelet was her style, but she shrugged. Yes, fine, she could handle wearing it. A part of her considered thanking him for it, but she was only making this climb because of him. It was to be expected that he'd provide her the means of accomplishing the feat.

"Where did you get it?" she wondered, as it seemed like a fair question. Apparently the wrong one, as Hook's expression was suddenly quite cloudy. Which meant the answer was not one he was inclined on sharing. Emma exhaled, wondering how many secrets the pirate was keeping from her. It seemed like a lot lately, or maybe she was just better at noticing when he was trying to hide things, whatever it was, his closed off nature was starting to worry her. Why she couldn't say, seeing as their temporary partnership hardly required him to give a life story. Still, working with a guy that refused to give you simple answers hardly eased the mind, especially hers. "Nevermind," she sighed, as clearly he wasn't going to tell her anyway.

Or was he?

"I got it from a woman I was working for. Suffice to say she'll be right displeased to hear I shared with you." Hook was watching her with those steely blue storm clouds and Emma was downright unsettled. Okay, so that was a burst of honesty she wasn't expecting.

"Great, good to know you're making me an accomplice to your crimes," the blonde muttered, once again her fingers reached out to touch the beanstalk, and thankfully not encountering the same magical jolt as before. "Are we going to do this thing or not, Jones?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Swan," he replied with shark-like grin. Emma paused, realizing the terminology he was hanging onto, and shot him an unimpressed look. Nice try, but not so much. He was not going to be having her against a beanstalk today, thank you. Or, you know, ever, though Emma was not going to pretend she didn't like sex against a wall. Actually, she quite enjoyed it, though her partner had to be strong enough for it and it seemed like in modern times, they weren't. Emma hadn't had sex up a wall in years, why was she even thinking about sex right now? At least that was a pleasant enough thought to start climbing on. Hook seemed to recover, giving a wide gesture to the stalk in front of them. "Ladies first, of course."

_Of course_. He seemed to be a gentleman only when it was convenient for him, or _inconvenient_ for her. Emma shook her head, for once not airing a protest, instead reaching out to hoist herself up. She had some experience with rock climbing and similar pursuits, and she was athletic besides. Still, the beanstalk promised to be quite a climb and she was not looking forward to it. Emma was focused enough in her climb that it took her a bit to notice the pirate was contentedly watching her go.

Right. _What a gentleman. _Emma did not miss where his eyes were lingering, but it was hard not to stare at her ass when it was suspended above him. Not so hard that he couldn't have avoided it, granted, but… she found she didn't mind as much as she maybe should have.

"If this is a race I've got a hell of a head start," she called down to him. Hook gave a dark chuckle. It was a rare change for her to not firmly discourage his lechery, but hey. Looking was free, after all.

"Well, my dear, I'm quite skilled at catching up," he assured her, but he did start clambering up after her like a leather-clad monkey. Good, because if she had to climb this thing on her own, she was going to keep that damn compass for herself.

Both of them sank into silence during the climb, at least initially. It went faster than she would have thought. The vines were strong and well dispersed. Emma had actually had a harder time at a gym on a rock-climbing wall. There was always something to grab onto when climbing the beanstalk. There were a few treacherous handholds but Emma tested everything before she put her weight on it. She would not be falling all the way down, not when she had no harness to fall back on. Emma might have been content to focus and not waste any energy on conversation, but the pirate, true to form, didn't give her the chance. It had hardly been fifteen minutes of climbing before he called over, "You know, some might find your silence off-putting. Me, I like a challenge."

Emma gave a huff of a laugh. She was more challenge than he could keep up with, Emma was at least confident in that.

"I'm concentrating," she told him, as that should have been obvious. She was trying to keep her handholds steady so she made it through this climb alive. Her silence was not to put him off, though at this point Emma was not sure anything would. He was annoyingly persistent.

"Or you are evading," suggested Hook, who was not as winded as she would have liked. Emma could feel the exertion of the climb humming in the muscles of her arms, but Hook seemed particularly unbothered by the effort.

"Evading what, exactly?" Emma asked, though it was not the best question to ask and Emma only saw the trap only after she'd stepped right into it. She was too busy climbing to keep up with his mind games, too.

Hook was a little ahead of her and paused for a moment as she pulled herself level. Emma matched his stare for a second, before turning her attention back to the climb. Did not stop Hook from talking to her, however. "You're afraid of revealing too much, so you think silence will protect you. What you don't know, my dear—" Hook gave a grunt as he hefted up after her, "Is that your silence is just as revealing."

Emma threw the pirate her best unimpressed look, though it was a lot harder mid climb. "You hardly know anything about me," she reminded him, but that wasn't as true as she would have liked it to be. He knew some things about her that Emma kept quite secret, as long as she could manage it.

The look Hook gave her seemed to say just that. "I'm starting to learn," Jones confessed, and it sent an uncomfortable prickle down the back of Emma's spine. "You're somewhat of an open book, you know."

Even if this was another loaded statement, enticed to entrap her, Emma asked, "How do you figure?" Because maybe she was a little curious how the pirate read her so easily. Emma had been skilled at keeping her thoughts and her feelings in her head for decades. She'd known the pirate for less than two weeks and he was merrily picking away at her walls and Emma wasn't even sure how he'd gotten as far as he had. Or maybe she was sure, as Hook was hardly subtle about the way he tried to tear them down. Emma was just unnerved by the realization that despite seeing him coming, knowing his type and being too smart to let him close, she had started to.

"Open book, darling. We're a lot more alike than you realize." Emma evaluated this statement but did not respond, expecting the pirate to give her a little more than that. "Don't believe me, do you? Well. For starters, you've been abandoned."

"I already told you that," Emma reminded wearily, testing a vine and ending up with a fistful of plant. Well, good thing she'd tested it. She dropped the green behind her without looking, as they were already high enough that looking was incredibly ill advised.

"So you have, but I saw it on your face the moment I met you." Emma's brow furrowed at that. It was not as if she had a band across her forehead, _I grew up in foster care._ "During my stay in Neverland, I grew acquainted with the Lost Boys. They all have the same look, darling. Being unwanted, unloved, it leaves its mark, and those who have experienced the same can see it if they know where to look."

Emma was not sure she liked how this line of conversation was going, so she deflected it. "Meaning you were abandoned?" By his own logic, if he could see this mark of loneliness on her, that meant he had it himself. Emma had not looked closely at him to notice, but he maybe had a point. She could see the emptiness in those blue eyes when he wasn't pretending to be this extravagant pirate. It was rare to see just Killian Jones. Emma associated most with Hook, and she was starting to realize they were two very different people.

"That I was," Hook agreed, and Emma felt a little unsettled by the open nature of the statement. Emma had not meant to reveal she was orphaned; she'd given it away accidentally due to impaired thinking. Emma had spoken of her time in foster care last night over rum. Emma did not talk often of her childhood, as there weren't many good memories to reminisce about. Mary Margaret's plea to know about her life rang in Emma's ears, but Emma hoped her mother never learned what her childhood was like. Emma may have resented her parents for what they'd done, for leaving her to face the world alone, but she didn't want to hurt them, either. What had happened to her had not really been their fault. "My mother must have died when I was young, I don't remember her. Neverland is incredibly hard on the mind. But for a time I had a father. We sailed together, and he promised to show me any world I wanted to see. And we did, for awhile, but one night he left, escaping for some crime, he left me behind and never looked back."

Emma is not sure what to say, so for a pace favored silence. She stares at the plant under her hands because it is easier than looking at the pirate when she offers a simple, "I'm sorry." Hook was a lot of things, but nobody deserved to be abandoned by their parent. And yet, Emma had done it herself, to Henry. It was painful irony that despite wanting to be a better parent than the example she had, she fell into the same problems. At least she had not abandoned Henry to face the world by himself. She'd given him away because she was desperate to give him a family that could love him and protect him. As much as Emma disliked Regina, the Evil Queen had provided for Henry and raised him very well. The mayor had made some mistakes, too, but that didn't erase all the good she had done.

"So was I, for a time," Hook said, tone impressively casual, but as Emma glanced at him, the storm brewing behind his eyes was not. Emma was not sure why he was telling her this, why he wanted her to know that they had their similarities. It did not help their limited partnership to talk about their pasts. "But being alone marked me, just as it as marked you. We understand each other, better than you like to admit."

He was uncomfortably close to the truth on that one. Because it definitely did bother her how easily he could read her and how easily she seemed to open up to him without meaning to. Emma was used to being the one doing the reading, the analyzing, to having the upper hand. She was not sure she liked the shoe on the other foot.

Emma gave a soft mutter of frustration, freeing a hand to rub at her forehead. "Is this going anywhere, Hook?" So what if they were similar? Were they just pointing out random facts to each other in lieu of actual conversation? If so, she had a few obvious things to share. Like, grass was green, water was wet, and pirates were aggravating.

"I've been courting you to work with me, my dear, and if you would find it in yourself to trust me I think we'd be an admirable team. You have a reason that is driving you to return home, don't you?" Emma schooled herself into complete non-reaction, but Hook did not stop. "You have someone waiting for you in the world without magic. You don't want your child to be abandoned as you were." Emma felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water at her. How the hell had he known that? Emma had not spoken of Henry and for very good reason. Hook didn't need to know that. And somehow, he'd managed to figure it out all the same. He was way smarter than she gave him credit for, though with his guyliner and tacky pirate come ons, it wasn't surprising she didn't take him seriously. Hook seemed to be waiting for an answer but Emma found her voice stalled in her throat. "I want to help you, Emma. I'll help you get back to your child. We can help each other, we want the same things. Once I get to the World Without Magic, you'll never have to see me again."

Emma wasn't sure she wanted to see him anymore _right now_, and that was pretty awkward mid-beanstalk climb. Emma did not know how to take Hook's offer, but she was far more inclined to take it than she had been before, and she sort of resented herself for even considering it. Emma wasn't even sure why it seemed like a better idea now. Maybe she was tired of being alone. It wasn't totally untrue that they made a good team when they were trying to work together. And she could use the help, honestly. Trying to find her way out of the Enchanted Forest on her own might be impossible. Hook had already given her most of the knowledge she was currently using to try and find her way out. He was smart and knowledgeable and yes, he could be helpful.

However, trusting him felt like a dangerous game, like playing with fire. And Emma couldn't get burned, not now, not when the stakes were so high.

"Let's get through this deal before we make another one," Emma decided, amazed with herself that she did not refuse the bargain full-out. If Hook made it to the world without magic and managed to kill the Crocodile he was after, she'd be an accomplice to murder. Even if Hook thought the kill was justified, ends did not justify the means. However, Emma would do anything to get back to her family… and she hated herself for considering it, but if agreeing to work with Hook got her home, then it might not be the worst of ideas. "It'll be a moot point if you get squished by a giant. Do you have a plan for finding this compass, by the way?"

Hook seemed unperturbed by her deflection, and answered without missing a beat. "Well, not in such clear terms. I'm sure we'll think of something. Perhaps we can wait for it to nap and sneak in."

Emma laughed despite herself. "Hook, seriously. Your plan is 'wait for the giant to nap'?" No wonder he wanted a partner.

"Do you have any better plans, gorgeous?" Hook parried back, looking mildly put out by her laughing at him.

Well, he might have her there. "I don't know Giants well enough to know what would work," Emma confessed, racking her brain for what she could remember of the Jack and the Beanstalk. "Maybe we can use the Golden Goose as a hostage."

It was Hook's turn to laugh, a sudden bark of laughter that surprised her. "What _are_ you on about? A golden goose?"

Emma fumbled slightly, uneasy with being laughed at. "Well, in the story, the giant atop the beanstalk had a goose that laid golden eggs. And then a harp that played itself, too." Hook laughed again, and she hated herself for liking the sound of it, even if it was at her expense.

"Well now, as lovely as _that_ sounds, that's not exactly how I heard it," Jones informed her. Emma frowned, wondering how off her perception of the tale actually was.

"Okay, fine. So what was Jack after, then?" she huffed, expecting information if he was going to laugh at how wrong she was. If she was wrong, then he should tell her how the story really went. Only seemed fair. She wondered if this particular story was in Henry's book. She really should have read it.

"Remember I told you that the giants grew the magic beans, Emma. And that they had been mostly killed off." Emma did remember him talking about that, but she remained silent. There had to be more to the story than that. "The giants used their magic beans to draw treasure and wealth from other worlds into this one. Jack led an attack on this very castle, in hopes of making off with their crop. Only one giant remains, and it's said he destroyed all the vines in mourning for his family."

Was it bad that Emma felt sort of bad for a giant when the story was told that way? Why did Jack have to kill all the giants for their magic beans? Emma could actually understand the Giant destroying what the humans had killed his family for.

"So he's just stuck up there all alone?" Emma muttered, expression contorting. She had hoped that her climb would distract Hook from noting her expression, but apparently she was not so lucky.

"Don't feel too terribly for a giant. We might have to kill him to get what we need." Emma's stomach flipped at that. Just because Jack had run around killing giants, didn't mean everybody could (or should). The poor massive bastard was up there rotting in the place his entire family had been slaughtered; it seemed kind of cruel to murder him just to steal something else. Emma did not want to resort to murder on her way back to Henry.

"There has to be a way to find your stupid compass without murdering a lonely giant," Emma said, tone surprisingly certain. She apparently caught Hook of guard as well, if the expression on his face was to be believed.

"Darling, don't go soft on me now. If the choice was between this grumpy bastard and your boy, who would you choose?" Emma's expression was downright dangerous at this, but Hook was severely unrepentant. Emma would do anything for Henry, and _yes_, that might include slaying a giant. It would never be her first solution, though. Killing was a last ditch effort. Emma did _not_ appreciate Hook using Henry as a manipulation, and—

"How did you know it was a son?" she asked, voice brittle. Because _honestly_, she could not be as 'open' as he was implying.

"Just a guess, Emma. But apparently a correct one." Emma shook her head, frustration evident on her face, and did not answer him in the affirmative. It wasn't like he didn't already know. Hook surprised her, however, by adding another question. "What is the boy's name, love?"

This was possibly the most dangerous question Hook had ever asked her, and it seemed incredibly foolish to answer. And yet… "His name is Henry," she said, voice soft as her thoughts went to the boy she'd been forced to leave behind. Emma hoped desperately that he was okay. He had a small army to protect him and yet she was still worried. It just felt like something was _wrong_, like a weird supernatural instinct. Henry needed her for something and she was here with the snarky pirate with no idea on how to get back to him. "He's turning eleven soon." And Emma hoped to be there when he did.

"You'll get back to him, darling. If you are anything, Emma Swan, it is determined. I'd like to help you, if you'd let me." Emma closed her eyes, trying not to really consider the offer of partnership too heavily. Not right now. They had other things to focus on.

"We'll see," was her only limited answer. Hook threw her a grin like she'd just set a challenge and he was set and determined on meeting it. "Heads up, princess, we're nearly to the top."

Emma did not have time to complain about that nickname – _princess? _ Really? So what if she technically was one, she did not appreciate the condescending moniker – as Hook started to climb faster, as if the end being in sight was some sort of spectacular motivation. And just like his grin before, Emma was not going to be bested by a scurvy ridden pirate. The challenge was unspoken but she was just as dead set on meeting it. They finished their climb in silence, and Emma was pleased to point out, she was the first to the top. She winced as she pulled herself over a stone wall near the beanstalk, hand grazing a bit of raw and sharp stone, but she paid it little mind. Emma rested against the small barrier, taking in her surroundings.

The setting at the top was somehow, not what she was expecting. This high she was expecting something out of a fairytale, seeing as it was one. Whimsical decorations, a castle, clouds drifting by close enough to touch or something trite like that. They were met by a castle, but it was _massive_. Massive, dark, ominous, and creepily silent. A cold chill settled in Emma's stomach as her green eyes took it all in. Maybe the castle was built to be ominous, in attempts to keep climbers out. She shouldn't let just the appearances unnerve her, but a part of her was already unsettled.

Emma was about to ask Hook what their amended plan was (because waiting for a giant to fit in a cat nap seemed like a terrible one) when he caught her hand. Emma snatched it back, instantly.

"Stop that," she tried, but Hook was not to be put off so easily. He caught her hand again, and this time she noticed the spark of pain she got from the movement. "Ouch. Stop-"

"You are cut, Swan, let me see." Emma could see the red of blood at her palm and unfortunately couldn't dispute him. She must have cut herself somehow during the climb.

"Oh, so now you're going to be a gentleman?" she baited, but Hook sent her an dry look and pulled her hand in closer to inspect it. Emma grimaced but didn't stop him.

"Giants can smell blood, darling," he warned her with an ominous lilt to his tone which somehow made his entreaty seem a little hollow. If giants could smell blood then presumably the one stranded up here had already smelled her. Hook pulled out a canteen of what Emma presumed was water, but she was quickly proven wrong. Emma gave a sharp gasp.

"You _bastard,_" she hissed. He'd had _more_ rum on him? Was the pirate a walking brewery? "What a waste of rum," she muttered, and Jones chuckled at that, beginning to wind a bandage around her hand.

"No arguments there," he told her, and Emma sighed, as she watched him work. Hook apparently really wanted to be a nurse, and when he got it in his head that he had to fix her up she never seemed to be able to stop him. And since the third time was the charm, when Hook ducked his head downwards to close the knot with her teeth, Emma was expecting it. That part, at least. When he turned those impossibly blue eyes on her, well, somehow that she was not expecting. The look made her feel a little weak in the knees, as it was incredibly intense, deep and _wanting_. Hook's lechery rarely seemed like he was genuinely interested in her, it mostly made him sound like a perverted old man. The way he looked at her in moments like this sent shocks all through her body and she felt desire creep into her core. Those looks of wanting that made her wonder just how skilled he would have been and what could have happened if she'd let him have her against that stupid beanstalk. Hook placed a kiss above the injury, on top of the cloth, and then released her, leaving Emma stunned and a little uncomfortable, for all the wrong reasons.

"Well, darling, we've got a giant to incapacitate. What say you we do a little planning?" Emma blinked, as she was not sure how they'd come to the plan of incapacitation. "Well, you don't want to kill him, you little sap, so we'll have to knock him out, don't you think?"

Emma blinked. Well… it was probably better than waiting for it to sleep, if only marginally. But how were they supposed to achieve that? Emma glanced around their surroundings again, the wheels in her head practically audible. What could they really use to knock-out a giant? Green eyes took in and evaluated all that they had at their disposal, and unbelievably, things started to click into place. "I think I have an idea."


End file.
